


Three Days in February

by writing_practice



Series: Three Days in February [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Banter, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Cursed Louis Tomlinson, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, M/M, Magical Realism, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Pining, Pre-Ziam (If you squint), Sharing a Bed, Shouldn't be any major triggers but this definitely gets intense!, Slow Burn, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Top Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 187,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_practice/pseuds/writing_practice
Summary: “We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet.“And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.”“What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?”Confusion slid over Louis's features.“Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.”The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Three Days in February [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888597
Comments: 152
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I wasn't going to write anything for this fandom, but then this idea for a wee little crack!fic came to me that I stupidly accepted and it turned into this monster. Not crack but with lots of humour, 1.5 months and 176 thousand words later, this beast has emerged. And it is a beast. It's been so much fun to challenge myself to such a specific point in time for these boys. Huge thank yous to louloubaby92 and almondmilktea for befriending this crazy writer and probably newest 1D fan out there. This would not be finished without you two and your constant excitement to see this done. You're both such jewels. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> Of course, the characters in this fic and are based on real people, but the real people are very much their own persons. In no way is any of this meant to reflect as fact about them. It's fiction and entertainment. Cheers!
> 
> WARNING: I was told by a few readers to warn anyone choosing to read this to not read it in the evening if you’d like to get sleep that night because you'll have a hard time putting it down. Good luck!

“Hazza!”

That bright voice, the first half of a ‘Marco/Polo’ across the pool of people in the club, erupted from somewhere on the edge of the dance floor. Even over the conversations and the music, Harry heard him, loud and clear.  
  
Because Louis was loud. His name was built into the word. Lou. Loud. Louis loud. Lou is loud.  
  
He must be on at least his fourth pint if he was laughing at word play.  
  
Zayn muttered, “here we go,” the instant he saw the wide grin weave its way onto Harry’s face.  
  
That only made Harry's smile wider. He threw out his arm and called back the answering ‘Polo,’ the alcohol he'd had making his accent thick enough so that the two names almost rhymed.  
  
“Louis!”  
  
With a week to the start of their second tour, the five of them had decided to celebrate all together with a night out, one final weekend that was completely theirs. They still had rehearsals—sound checks, wardrobe fittings, a photoshoot and the Brits on Tuesday—but tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday were completely their own. They’d been here for a few hours now and Harry had taken a break from dancing with Louis and Niall to grab another pint, settling in next to Liam and Zayn in the round corner booth they’d been occupying for the past hour.  
  
He'd needed the break, for more liquor to wet his throat, for a change of scenery to clear his head. The dangerous mixture of alcohol and dancing and Louis and the sea of anonymity and the heady thrum of the music had put him dangerously close to an edge that he didn’t want to freefall over.  
  
A strong arm looped over his shoulders as Louis all but careened into his side. The white _YSL_ tee he was wearing, the one with the exploding head on it that had cost well over 200 quid, glowed beneath the black lights.

Harry thought it was oddly fitting, the image. Drunk Louis was almost the same as sober Louis, really. He was a spitfire, a firework explosion with a mouth full of snarky comments that turned his flare of a soul into a full on lightsaber. With enough alcohol in him, Louis didn’t need an audience to go into full theatre mode, drawing laughter and smiles from everyone blessed enough to be around him. The shirt seemed to send out a warning of what would happen to anyone who strayed too close to his magnetic orbit.  
  
“What you lot even doing anyway? We’re at a club and you’re fucking sat here like—” sharp blue eyes flicked to Zayn, hint of a smirk touching his lips, “—three twats judging the dance portion of a competition.”  
  
Niall burst out laughing at the look on Zayn’s face and Liam groaned, obnoxiously so (for Zayn’s benefit probably), but Louis only grinned.

Louis had let his hair grow out a touch in the last couple months before tour, had spiked it up before they’d gone out, but he must’ve been running his hands through the fluffy strands. Some of it had started to fall, fanning across his forehead into the telltale fringe. He ducked forward and swiped the fringe to the side out of his eyes, which were logging the three pints and four empty glasses laid out around the table.  
  
He looked like a king plotting the next moves on a battlefield map. Harry immediately tightened his hold on his pint. Zayn lifted his to drink and Liam laced his fingers together around his own. Louis arched a brow at the three of them and made a casual swipe for Harry’s.  
  
“We’re not dancing,” Zayn said, flippant, but he’d had enough to drink that he’d gone all loose-limbed himself, flopped in the booth with his arms splayed across the back of the seats behind Harry and Liam.

Ply Zayn with enough alcohol and his normally steely resolve to not take any of Louis’s verbal bait all but vanished. He didn’t lose himself really. No, alcohol made Zayn relax, care just a bit less about what others thought about him. Harry supposed it had something to do with his heritage. Zayn had been being careful with his image long before they all became famous. It always made him happy to see Zayn stop caring quite so much about what others thought.  
  
“We’re staking our claim.”  
  
Even if it meant caring a bit too much about club decor.  
  
“You focus on the strangest shite when you’re flutered, mate,” Niall laughed, echoing Harry’s thoughts. He’d been out on the dance floor with Louis and decided that seats were beneath him, plopping half his arse on the edge of the table closest to Liam.  
  
Niall was one to talk though. If they didn’t keep him occupied, he had a tendency to educate them on strange facts when he’d had enough to drink.  
  
“It’s a circular booth!” Zayn protested, eyes wide in the way only alcohol could make them. He was still wearing his leather jacket, even in the heat of the club. Next to him, Liam snorted and offered his pint to Niall, who took it with an easy grin and a _cheers, mate_.  
  
Louis again made a grab for Harry’s pint, but he only tightened his grip even more. He was well-practiced in this.  
  
Until deft fingers twisted his right nipple and he wasn’t fast enough to smack the offending hand away.  
  
“Hey,” he whinged, drawing it out and rubbing at his poor nipple. Louis grinned and swiped his pint up from the table, swilling it twice before swigging half of what was left.  
  
Harry gave up too quickly. Louis was warm against his side, fingers of the hand still around his shoulders tapping the beat of the music—David Guetta right now—out against his skin and it seemed like a fair trade to lose half a pint. He was pleasantly tipping past tipsy, the rush of alcohol a tingle through his veins. He tracked the movement of Louis’s tongue sliding across his bottom lip, catching the ale shining there before it could slip down his chin, lips slightly parted, always hinting a grin, wet and plush in the lighting, inviting and—  
  
Shit. Harry tore his gaze away and stared towards one of the black walls by the dance floor. He quickly sorted through the mental list of words he kept at the ready for moments like these when he started down the Louis-rabbit-hole and latched on to the one he’d chosen for the day.  
  
_Queue_. Q-U-E-U-E. Queue. Cue. It didn’t even make sense. How would it sound if he even tried to pronounce every single vowel? What about Qway-way? He should start using that instead. Why were the French so strange? He blamed it on the royalty. It was always the royals. Wasn’t one of them known as the Sunshine King? Or was it just the Sun King? King Louis the something or other, the Sun King.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Alright there, Haz?” Fingers gave one of his curls a gentle tug. Louis’s voice was right by his ear and Harry blinked, drawing in a sharp breath. Louis had leaned close enough to be heard over the music without raising his voice, close enough that Harry could see the faint traces of stubble starting to pepper his cheeks.  
  
Harry shook his head, cleared his throat and grasped desperately for something to say, sputtering out the first thing that came to mind.  
  
“The French don’t know how to spell.”  
  
He knocked his shoulder into Louis even with Louis’s arm still looped around him.  
  
Sometimes he really felt like the exploding head on Louis’ shirt.  
  
For a moment Louis just stared at him but then his entire body exploded with laughter. He wasn’t alone either, the others were looking at him with a mixture ranging from utter confusion (Liam), to equally raucous laughter (Niall). Zayn just locked eyes with him and offered a small, understanding smile.  
  
“What the fuck, Haz?” Louis cracked, still laughing. “How do you even human with a mind like yours.”  
  
Well, distraction successful. And he got to watch Louis’s entire face light up like a sunshine king in disbelieving delight. Bonus points.  
  
He shrugged, wiggled his eyebrows.  
  
“Reckon that’s my real talent.”  
  
Louis’s arm left his shoulders and he leaned forwards on his forearms, mirroring Harry, shoulder to shoulder now.  
  
“Is it now, Harold?”  
  
Harry shrugged again, content to let his bicep brush along Louis’s, feigning nonchalance.  
  
“It’s worked so far. Even fooled you.”  
  
Louis arched an eyebrow, shifting a little more in his direction. The movement was small, but the meaning was loud. _You have my full attention now. Use it wisely, Harold_.  
  
Or maybe it was more of an _I’m intrigued, you bloody alien_.  
  
“You pissed on me when we met. What makes you think I ever thought you were human?”  
  
“So... what? You thought that was normal for an alien to do?”  
  
“Normal for a dog.”  
  
Harry smirked.  
  
“So you’re saying I was marking my territory?”  
  
“How should I know?” Louis suddenly flicked at his forehead, smirking right back. “I’ve never been to Mars.”  
  
“Neither have I. I’m from Venus.” Harry flicked his hair out of his face and shot Louis a winning smile, obnoxiously fluttering his eyelashes and leaning closer to stage-whisper his biggest secret. “It’s the hottest planet.”  
  
Louis barked out a short laugh before he could stop himself and then matched him, leaning closer himself, that ever-present half-smirk Harry loved so much widening a bit more to show off a hint of teeth.  
  
“So what does pissing on someone mean on Venus?”  
  
“Depends on the someone.”  
  
“Anyone else waiting for the Steve Irwin voiceover on this utterly fascinating wildlife documentary or is it just me?” Zayn deadpanned, reaching for what was left of his ale and downing the rest as Harry and Louis both looked over at the same time. Niall and Liam lost it in laughter.  
  
“Just for that, Malik—” Harry turned back to Louis, “You were saying something about dancing?”  
  
Zayn groaned.  
  
“Bastard.” He threw a balled up napkin, one that he’d been doodling on earlier, at Harry’s head, but Harry just grinned right back when it missed and fell behind him onto the booth.  
  
“Come on, Zayn. I’m sure no one will steal your booth.” Niall snickered. “It’ll be here all fucking night.”  
  
Louis pointed first at Niall and then Zayn with the hand that still claimed Harry’s ale. Harry leaned further into him and Louis seemed comfortable right where he was, their forearms pressed together on the table now too.  
  
“Oi oi, now listen up you sorry excuses for wankers. Patrick’s right. Stop claiming round tables and come dance already. We’re fucking rockstars, not knights.” He leveled a glare a mite too glassy from drink to be effective at Zayn. Or maybe it was the smirk he was trying to hide that took the bite out his quip. “You want to sit in a circle so much we’ll take a special trip to Disneyland Paris and let you ride the teacups, mate.”  
  
“Patrick?”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh, loud enough that Harry knew Liam had just done exactly what Louis had wanted. Watching Louis run circles around the other lads with his quick tongue would never get old. The alcohol loosened Louis’s tongue the way alcohol loosened everyone else’s bodies and his wit had no reason to stop.

Obviously this was one of those moments, so Harry dramatically plopped his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, pasting a cheesy grin of anticipation on his face and waiting for the show to start.

Louis’s gaze flicked to him, just the barest of moments, but it was enough for Harry to know he got the message. Louis was trying to keep a serious face.  
  
“That’s what you took away from me words, Payno?” Louis jerked a thumb at Niall. “Ireland here hasn’t been a saint in years so ‘Patrick’ is all he gets.” He polished off Harry’s beer, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and set the empty glass down with an audible thump. “Keep up, mate.”  
  
“And fuck off, Tommo,” Niall added with a wide grin. “Least I lost me sainthood. You should work on that. Clock’s ticking.”  
  
Harry was impressed, Niall had come a long way if he was opting for a dirty joke against Louis now of all times. He doubted that quip would be enough to throw Louis off, especially when Louis was at least three (and a half) pints in. He remembered a comment he’d made to Louis that was far more sexually direct and Louis hadn’t given it a second thought.  
  
He couldn’t remember what rag had been interviewing them, but he and Louis had been seated on the sofa, laptops plopped in their laps while Niall had been sat in the hot seat across the room. Niall was getting used to their game though, fast becoming too unfazed by anything they did, so it'd been becoming harder and harder to trip him up during interviews. Harry had suddenly stopped typing and leaned in enough to whisper, “I’ve got this.”  
  
Louis had quirked up an eyebrow at him in response and the moment Niall had paused to think about his answer, Harry had asked, loudly enough to reach Niall, “Lou, can I give you a blowjob?”  
  
And Louis hadn’t even batted an eyelash, casually looking at his screen he'd shot back, “I’d love it if you just wait.”  
  
It’d worked. And when Niall had swiveled in his chair so fast to look at them, momentarily stunned, he'd found Harry and Louis both looking over the top of their screens at him. Harry had wiggled his eyebrows, shoving the most innocent grin on his face that he'd just known Louis had been giving Niall too.  
  
He couldn’t deny that even he’d been impressed at how easily Louis had gone with it.

He’d learned two important things that day: 1) the things Louis said had nothing to do with how he really felt and 2) no topic was off limits when it came to the game the two of them had been playing since they became a band to try and trip up, stun, or get the other three lads to break, especially in public.  
  
He would never give up the utter joy that matching wits with Louis had brought into his life.  
  
He blinked back from the memory now right as Louis thunked his elbow onto the table, shoved his index and middle fingers up, and then leaned down so he could peer at Niall through the ‘V’ they made.  
  
“These eyes and me golden tongue took care of that ages ago.” And as if the _fuck you_ of his fingers wasn’t enough, he flicked his tongue out suggestively into the ‘V’ and winked. The music had no lyrics now and the deep base pulsing through the club made the action even dirtier. “Why? Fishing for pointers there, Nialler?”  
  
Christ. All the world’s a stage when Louis’s in his element. Harry quelled the strange shifting of rubble in his chest. Queue. Queue. Q.U.E.U.E.  
  
Niall threw his hands up in surrender and Liam leaned over Zayn, Harry, and the table to shove at Louis’s arm, laughing himself.  
  
“I think he gets it.”  
  
Louis’s arm didn’t move.  
  
Louis never moved unless Louis wanted to move.  
  
It was his choice to sit back up against Harry, but not before shaking his hand in an impressive cross between the wrist-flick he tended to do when he was feeling particularly triumphant and miming a handie. Blue eyes shining, he shared a look with Harry that said _Props to Patrick for the effort though, yea?_ and then focused back on the other three.  
  
“So. Dancing.” He said it so casually, like he hadn’t just completely leveled Niall into the table.  
  
“Some of us don’t dance because we can’t, you know,” Zayn argued, unable to help rolling his eyes.  
  
“None of us can dance, so stop sitting on your bloody arses like you’ve got a right to judge,” Louis laughed, moving again, always moving. He leaned further into Harry so he could poke at Zayn and Harry slid his arm around Louis’s waist to keep him from toppling straight over his lap.  
  
They didn’t make it as far as they did on X Factor because of their moves, but that never seemed to stop Louis from moving his hips, dragging them all into moves that were more and more obnoxious until even Zayn was comfortable letting loose. Harry couldn’t help but laugh and Louis playfully bit down on his shoulder when he did, just enough for Harry to feel the press of teeth through his shirt, before saying, “You still think you’re dancing for other people, Z. Save that for tour.”  
  
Zayn muttered something Harry didn’t quite catch, but it sounded a lot like _Right, because I’m the one banging on other people to dance right now_. He sat forward, drained his glass, looked incredibly put out to realize it was already drained, and dug into the pocket of his leather jacket.  
  
“Going for a smoke first.”  
  
When Louis stood up, crossing his arms with nothing short of triumph on his face, Harry followed to let Zayn out, mentally trying to decide what type of crown would suit Louis best.  
  
He plopped his chin down on Louis’ shoulder from behind—one of his favorite places to be—so he had a better view of Zayn’s muttering as he slid out of the booth. He wasn’t the only one to do it: use Louis’ shoulders as a head rest. They all did it, really. There was something indestructible about the line of Louis’ shoulders, like if Harry or the other three ever needed it, without a second thought Louis could and would take on anyone, anything, anytime, anywhere, and win. Sometimes Harry liked to think their alternate band name should be _Louis and the Lads,_ because it just made sense.  
  
If they were all charging in one direction and taking the world by storm, Louis definitely took point.  
  
He kept his voice at normal speaking volume, which made it a whisper because of the music, so only Louis could hear him.  
  
“He’ll try to get out of it.”  
  
Louis turned his head enough to catch Harry’s eye and winked, the quirk of his lips both devious and victorious.  
  
King Louis indeed. He then quickly filed that into the list of thoughts he would never let Louis find out.  
  
It was a long list.  
  
“Course he will. Won’t be successful though.” Louis pulled away and spun so smoothly, like a footie player stealing the ball, smacked Harry’s bum and then slung an arm over Zayn’s shoulders, the two of them disappearing towards the exit. Harry watched them go.  
  
The lights of the club near the back exit highlighted the curve of Louis’s body, momentarily silhouetting the slight dip at his waist through the loose white fabric of his tee. Harry’s gaze followed the line of his hips down ever further, lingered over the swell of Louis’s arse in the fitted black jeans he was wearing until the crowds of people blocked his view.  
  
Fuck. Once his brain caught up to his eyes, Harry shoved his fingers into them as though he could physically reprimand them for looking and took a deep breath. He was normally so much better at this, at controlling himself. He wasn’t stupid, knew it was the alcohol in him, which was half the reason why he’d been so careful for months not to go drinking and partying with Louis, but he couldn’t resist. Everything was just so much better with Louis around. He just had to really focus, that’s all.  
  
But right now all he wanted was another drink.

*

  
  
  
  
  
  
“Going to dance anymore tonight?”  
  
At Harry’s question, Liam glanced over at him from his side of Zayn’s round table. With Zayn and Louis gone and Niall begging off for a piss and then to the bar for their next rounds, he and Liam had the booth to themselves and were making use of it, sprawled out on either side.  
  
“Nah. I’ve had my fill. Feels too good right where I am.”  
  
And Liam looked it. One arm on the table, the other over the back of the booth, his legs were up so that his feet dangled over the edge of the seat. Like Louis, he’d been growing his hair out too, out of the buzz cut. It wasn’t back to the crazy curls though, but long enough to look good either way.  
  
All the lads always looked good, but Harry couldn’t deny he had a preference for having hair, especially since his own curls were apparently his defining feature. Besides, if he didn’t have hair he’d miss out on Louis’s fingers running through it all the time. He was more than happy to indulge Louis’s fascination with his hair if it meant head rubs and attention. Maybe he should grow it out more. He kind of wanted to.  
  
Hairy Harry. Heh.  
  
He blinked when he realized just how far he’d gone with his thoughts if he was recycling very old puns. Where had he been anyway? Oh right, loose-limbed, laid-back, longer-haired Liam.  
  
He was doing it again.  
  
Harry knew the feeling that was pasted all over Liam’s face though, that magical moment of alcohol intake where shit just didn’t matter.  
  
He loved that moment.  
  
He clearly wasn’t there yet.  
  
“You know you’re just going to pumpkin faster,” he finally said.  
  
“Mm. Can’t really be arsed to care though.” Liam laughed, tapping two fingers idly against the table. They’d learned Liam’s strange quirk early on when they were still only getting drunk in private, before Harry could legally drink in public. He was fun, far more talkative, but somewhere in there it was like a switch flipped and turned him off, the alcohol turning him into a suddenly sleepy mess. Rarely was he the last one standing.  
  
Liam lolled his head to the side, studying Harry.  
  
“What about you, mate?”  
  
“Think I’m good too.” Harry had been dancing earlier and for a lot longer than Liam had. He’d mostly gotten it out of his system too before the heat and the alcohol and the oddly private space that being surrounded by a sea of strangers all dancing against each other created had become too much. He’d started losing grip on his own thoughts, finding it harder and harder to stop himself from dancing with Louis. Not with Louis, _with_ Louis. He’d danced with everyone, bloke, bird, it didn’t matter, never strayed far from where Louis had been doing the same, but all he wanted to do was dance _with_ Louis and that was the one thing he knew he shouldn’t do right now.  
  
So in the single instant where he’d been between dance partners and Louis had been right there, dancing between a girl at his front and some bloke grinding against his back, so bright under the lights compared to the other two, eyes bright enough that Harry saw the moment he looked up and met Harry’s eyes and grinned, looking so happy and blissed out on music and alcohol that all Harry wanted to do was grab him and kiss him... Harry had taken that moment as his cue to leave.  
  
He knew his emotions well enough to know when he needed to remove his own triggers. It was something he’d learned how to do a long time ago when he’d found out he had asthma: know his triggers and control his thoughts before they got the better of him. He’d mostly grown out of his asthma so it wasn’t really a problem anymore, but his triggers still definitely could be.  
  
Because it was a beautiful game, is the thing. What they had.  
  
Harry had walked out of the toilets that day so long ago with not only a new mate, but a new mate who shared his special brand of humour, who seemed to just understand. They’d walked out with an inside joke and a challenge rolled all in one and they hadn’t stopped playing that game since, wherever they could. It was the challenge of never backing down, of who could be more outrageous.

Louis always won with physical outrageousness, but they’d both do what they could to make comments in interviews, each one with that special brand of humour they both shared, that proof that there were no boundaries, no lengths to which they weren’t willing to go.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure when his feelings changed. Actually, he was sure they hadn’t _changed_. He was sure they’d always been there, but realizing them? Well, even that had been in fits and starts, little things that caught his attention until he could no longer blindly pretend it wasn’t there.  
  
But Harry was afraid that if he said anything, he’d lose the game. In more ways than one. He’d lose, certainly, in the sense that somehow Louis would end up with all the points, but he’d also lose the game itself. Game Over. The end.  
  
And Harry lived for the game, lived for what he had with Louis. He couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it.  
  
The silence stretched between him and Liam now and Harry lost track of how long it had been now.  
  
“Heard you’ve been making rounds of the party scene.” Even drunk, the sentence was all Liam, casual in the way that made Harry immediately think carefully about how to answer.  
  
The question made him fidgety and he reached for the pen left on the table from Zayn’s scribblings, tapping it in time with the music. He shrugged, fast running out of time to come up with an answer that would sound reasonable to Liam’s ‘suspiciously-protective sensibilities’. Harry just shortened it to ‘spidey-senses.’  
  
“Might as well while I can.”  
  
Liam dropped his head back against the booth, staring straight up at the ceiling.  
  
“You say that like they’re necessary.” He tripped up slightly on the last word. Necessary was hard enough to say without alcohol weighing down the tongue though.  
  
Harry sighed, flipping the pen around to doodle on the back of one of the paper coasters that Zayn hadn’t touched yet.  
  
He wasn’t getting drunk at all the parties. Mingling, focusing on meeting people, focusing on being careful of what ended up getting back to the press, enjoying enough drinks to stay pleasantly buzzed...it went a long way to clearing his head, a long way to rebuilding fortress walls and battle towers that now needed to be so carefully constructed and were so easily torn down by the blue eyes and witty mouth of an always-victorious king.  
  
His mum had told him once that the best way to make a big problem small is to give yourself a bigger one. Not that parties were a problem, no, but the threat of fucking something up and creating a PR nightmare was enough to make it seem like a ‘bigger problem’.  
  
And it worked, the way pressing down on an open cut made it stop bleeding only as long as he kept pressing.  
  
So while they still had time, he stocked up on his reserves with as many parties as he could, not wanting anything to get in the way of the utter chaos and madness and absolute joy that being on tour with his best mates for the next eight months would be.

He glanced down at the coaster and his own scrawl, the lines deep and dark where he’d run over and over them several times until he’d almost ripped through it, realized what he’d been doodling.  
  
**@978/**  
  
He smacked the pen down with more force than he really meant to and scrubbed his hand over his face before following Liam’s lead, letting his head fall back so he could stare at the blissful blackness of the ceiling. It was industrial, pipes and rivets all painted black, like you weren’t meant to notice it. He sighed, wondered if Liam even remembered what they were talking about anymore. Necessary. He responded anyway.  
  
“Maybe they are.”  
  
He needed to get another tattoo. Nail down the lid on his mind because he was becoming unhinged again. It’d only been what, less than a month, since his last? He huffed a laugh to himself, made up his mind right then. Three nails. Three nails to weld down the lid on his mind.  
  
Contents under pressure, bound to explode.  
  
Better tattoo that shit down now.  
  
When Niall arrived with three pints, Harry couldn’t be arsed to care that he immediately downed half and set the glass on that coaster, watching a drop of ale slide down the side of the glass and bleed straight through the numbers like an alcoholic tear.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
He was truly pissed now. Empty pints were scattered over the table between him and Liam like a foolish game of chess that he couldn’t tell if he’d won or given up. Niall had long since gone back to dance with Louis and Zayn but no amount of begging from Louis or Niall would get Harry’s arse off this booth. He was too happy and didn’t want to ruin it and now he couldn’t remember what he and Liam had just been laughing about for the past hour, but it felt damn good.  
  
He squinted down at his phone. Half two. Cinder-Liam made it well past midnight. Impressive.  
  
“Alright, mate.” He stood up slowly, topple-leaned over the table and clapped Liam on the shoulder. “Gonna wee. Then we’ll get you to yours.” Liam didn’t exactly need him to come, Paul would make sure he got in alright, but the alternative for Harry was finding the others on the dance floor and that. No. Too much alcohol for that to be safe now.  
  
Liam threw up a hand in some sort of response and Harry pushed away from the table to the toilets. The bright light inside the toilets seared through his eyelids and he had to squint them open. So bright. Like sunlight. Sunlight. Sunshine. Sun. Sun kings.  
  
He should text the others, tell them they were leaving. He unlocked his phone, stared at the fuzzy little colorful blocks for three seconds and then put it back in his pocket, nodding in accomplishment.  
  
The deep bass thrummed through his veins when he exited the toilets, heady and intoxicating as he wound his way around the dance floor back towards Liam.  
  
If he was still following the beat of the music, it was talent.  
  
Talent. Yes. He had talent. Talent at being pissed. Talent pissing on people.  
  
He glanced into the crowd of dancers to his left automatically at that last thought. Everyone was pressed so close together it was impossible not to be dancing with someone and impossible to spot anyone in the mass but he found him.  
  
He always found him. His body always knew where he was.  
  
Maybe because under the blacklights Louis was glowing. Harry didn’t know how, but the expanse of his back in that white shirt lit up like a sunflare under the lights, luring Harry like a sonar pulse through the mass of bodies on the dance floor. Louis had a beautiful girl pressed against him, her back to his chest, her sequined crop sparkling as they moved, her hands covering his on her waist. Louis was leaning down into her space and Harry traced the long line of his neck, stared at the preciously private spot behind Louis’s ear, followed the contour of his hairline, sweaty and slick, down, down, down.  
  
He needed to tell him.  
  
Harry pushed through the dancers, too sloshed to pull himself back, drawn towards Louis and into that light like the butterfly-moth he’d tattooed on his stomach. Because that’s what he was, a mothy-butterfly caught up inescapably in Louis’s aura. Someone jostled into him at the last moment and he stumbled into Louis’s back. Pasting himself into the small space behind him, he grounded himself with hands on Louis’s hips so he could shout into his ear and be heard over the deep throb of the music.  
  
They were nearly the same height and the flex of Louis’s muscles, sinewy and bursting with frenetic energy beneath Harry’s fingers and against his body zipped through his veins, wild and exhilarating.  
  
Louis pressed back into him, tipped his head to the side to make room for Harry on his shoulder and froze, hands falling away from the girl. Harry felt it, the loss of movement, how still he became, felt it everywhere and it sent his thoughts flying. He forgot what he was about to shout.  
  
He should pull back. Didn’t think he could. There was no space to do so, not really, squeezed between bodies as they were. The girl was already gone, another bloke slotting easily behind her where Louis used to be. Harry needed to clear his head and remember what he’d come out here to tell Louis but his head was exploding like the man on Louis’ shirt over and over again and Louis was grounding him in place and he was falling falling into solar flares of heat and flame.  
  
He dropped his forehead onto Louis’ shoulder, fingers curving around the jut of his hipbones, holding on tightly enough to feel the ridge of the waistband of Louis’s black jeans through his shirt. The brush of bodies on his arms and back felt like constant prods, digging and jabbing at his body in overstimulation. He tried to press even closer to Louis, burying his nose into the curve where neck met shoulder and the unmistakable scent of sweat and beer and boy filled his senses. Narrowing his focus down to every place he was holding onto Louis, he held on for the world to stop swaying and had to close his eyes until he could see again.  
  
“Haz?” Lips brushed against the hair at Harry’s temple. The vibration of his voice, that voice Harry swore haunted the dreams he never remembered rumbled against his chest.  
  
This was ridiculous. This was all so ridiculous. He was ridiculous. As ridiculous as the word ‘queue’. Queue, queue, queue, step up, step up, wait in line for your chance to find your sanity again, Harry. You won’t find it here though, not where you feel sane the most.  
  
That didn’t even make sense.  
  
His own thoughts didn’t even make sense.  
  
Laughter bubbled up out of him, wet and wanting, disappearing into Louis’ shoulder. He still couldn’t pull away, mumble-shouting with his lips now pressed into the soft, sweaty skin just below Louis’s ear because his aim was a bit off.  
  
“I’m so ssss....sozzled.”  
  
He felt more than heard Louis laughing against him at his word choice.  
  
Louis started to move to the beat again, his hands falling over Harry’s on his hips, like Harry had just said he needed help standing. Louis was far from sober himself, but he still found the rhythm easily, drawing Harry into the movement of his hips the way he drew everyone into him.  
  
Louis had talent too. Louis was so talented. He was so talented it hurt.  
  
The DJ was transitioning between songs, nothing but a single, steady bass beat throbbing through the air, fast, deliberate, primal. The heat pooled low in Harry’s stomach, mind fogging over from the swell of Louis’s arse against him, trapping him, drawing his hips into the inescapable sway of the beat.  
  
He flexed his fingers on Louis’s waist under Louis’s hands to keep them from wandering, to keep Louis there. A shaky breath fluttered past his lips into Louis’ skin as he gave in to temptation and tightened his grip for a single split of a moment and tried moving those hips himself. He pulled Louis tight against his body, mind clouding over when Louis just followed in the single, deep, syrupy-slow sway, loose and pliant and burning Harry from the inside.  
  
The sound sucked out of the club in a deafening rush of held breaths and stolen heartbeats.  
  
The beat dropped.  
  
“Come out here just to tell me that, you posh bastard?” Louis pulled Harry back into his senses just enough, that honey-drip glide of amusement pearling his voice until all Harry could picture was the half-smirking quirk of his lips that he knew Louis was making right now. Fingers carded into his hair, curled, the pads pressing against his scalp and tugging gently for Harry to pick his head up.  
  
He did, but he left his chin resting on Louis’ shoulder.  
  
And frowned.  
  
No. He came out here for another reason. He knew that. He came to tell Louis something that had to do with Louis. No. L. L. Hm.  
  
Across from them Niall was grinding up against a bird, beautiful and brunette, looking as blissful as Harry felt right now. And Zayn was dancing too, dark hair and darker skin even more mysterious under the lights. Louis could get anyone to dance, even Zayn. Louis knew, he always knew what they needed. His mates looked so happy; he had the best mates. Everyone around them was so blissed out, happy, beautiful.  
  
Everyone was beautiful. Had he ever met someone who wasn’t beautiful? People were beautiful. He loved people.  
  
Louis was beautiful. Louis was a sunflare and Harry was getting burned. The heat of the dance floor, of Louis’s body searing into his skin, sizzled his insides into something very very hot. Hot. Lava is hot. Yes. Lava.  
  
The DJ wasn’t playing Lady Gaga anymore. He didn’t recognize the song, must be something new that had just come out. He tuned in on the words the girl was singing. _...feelings you can’t deny that you’re living open up your eyes And I just want to sink into your crazy laughter—_  
  
He tensed, hips stilling and then pulled back, finally lifted his chin from Louis’ shoulder. It was only an inch between their bodies now but the loss of feverish warmth felt like a chasm of...of...something bad. He didn’t like it. But it made him remember.  
  
“Taking Liam home. Wanted to tell you.”  
  
He forgot he was still holding on to Louis though until his fingers slid from the juts of Louis’s hips, across his lower back and low along his belly, to the opposite hipbones when Louis turned to face him, cheeks flushed and eyes too blue from his own intoxication. For a moment Harry searched his eyes, looking for something he didn’t know what, but it just made him feel a bit dizzy, this constant push and pull, searching and seeking and finding and not finding but had found long ago but still searching still seeking and—  
  
Louis was watching him. Harry closed his eyes on the intense gaze but still felt the thrill tingling through his body. He tipped forward until their foreheads touched, until he could feel loose strands of hair brushing against his skin. He swallowed, took a breath, pulled away when he felt less dizzy but still very dizzy anyway.  
  
Blue eyes stopped searching his face and peered over Harry’s shoulder towards Zayn’s infamous circular booth as though he could see Liam through all the bodies piled together on the dance floor. His lips pressed together, but then his fingers were curving, warm and loose, around the bend of Harry’s jaw, just enough pressure to tip Harry’s head to the side.  
  
Harry resisted the urge to shiver when fingertips brushed against his ear, but then Louis was distracting him with a shout into his other ear, pressing right back against him.  
  
“Course. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yea?”  
  
Louis leaned back just far enough for Harry to see the jaunty, cock-sure grin and eyebrow-wiggle that accompanied his words. He was still dancing, drawing Harry right back into it, into him. Harry had to desperately tighten his fingers on Louis’s hips and fight to keep them there and not slide back and over the flesh of Louis’s arse, pull them right together and repeat the motion from that delicious friction.  
  
Louis thrust forward into Harry once, long and slow and challenging.  
  
Fuuuck.  
  
That was just enough to sober him back up into remembering he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t recip...recipor....reciprocate, no matter how much of a challenge it was.  
  
Louis was still watching him, their hips still moving.  
  
Harry licked his lips then beamed, toothy and no doubt a bit mental. Squeezing Louis’s hips one more time, he pulled his hips back and he leaned in again at the same time, missed a bit so his cheek ended up against Louis’s, that sweep of fallen hair tickling Harry’s temple this time when he shouted somewhere near his ear.  
  
“Won’t cook or clean. I swear.”  
  
Even if half of his devious tone was lost in having to shout to be heard, Louis still laughed, quietly enough that if he weren’t so close to Louis’s lips he wouldn’t have heard it. He pulled away to pat Harry’s cheek twice before easing him back with a palm on his chest, slowly enough that Harry felt each moment of the space widening between them and had to pry his own fingers away.  
  
“Good lad. Go on then.”  
  
Harry covered those fingers, squeezed once, before sliding away back through the press of bodies to where he’d left Liam half-way to falling asleep.

*

  
  
  
  
  
“Fuck, I miss Dani,” Liam grumbled, throwing splashes of cold water on his face, half of which missed and got all over the bathroom sink he was leaning over.  
  
Harry watched from where he was leaning against the doorway, arms and legs crossed, his own eyes half-closed, head resting against the wood.  
  
Liam plucked open his cabinet for toothpaste—Harry didn’t think Liam would ever be too drunk to sleep without brushing his teeth first—and shoved some on his brush, sticking it in his mouth and speaking around it.  
  
“Don’t care how it sounds. I’m allowed to want her, even if she’s just visiting family for the weekend.”  
  
He met Liam’s eyes in the mirror, offered him a half-smile.  
  
“Course you are. Wanting someone you love isn’t a crime.”  
  
Liam turned to face him, leaning sideways against his sink now and starting to actually brush, the movement slow and not nearly as precise as Liam tended to be sober. He didn’t say anything, so Harry let his eyes slip shut and took a deep breath.  
  
The air felt good in his lungs, like they were giving his heart a hug, all nice and filled up like this. He loved hugs. His little creature of a heart needed a hug right now because it hurt and he was pretty sure it had something to do with what he’d just said to Liam.  
  
“Here.”  
  
He opened his eyes to see Liam pulling out a green-handled toothbrush from the cup in the cabinet. They all spent enough time at each other’s places that everyone had a brush, colour-coded to keep them straight. His gaze flicked to the blue brush before he could think about it and he then had to fumble to catch his own brush against his chest when Liam tossed it to him, his aim as lacking as Harry’s reflexes.  
  
“Case you want to stay.”  
  
Now that he thought about it, the idea was incredibly tempting. The loss of music and rush of energy that came with a sea of dancing drunk people left all the remaining energy seeping out of Harry, leaving him more sober and exhausted, halfway to Liam’s pumpkin status. He knew Paul was idling outside while Harry made sure Liam got in alright, was planning on taking him home after this, but he didn’t want to put up with himself, with the twenty minute ride back to his and Louis’s place, with his thoughts, with...being awake.  
  
He’d spent all night fighting the push and pull of being with Louis, of balancing on the tightrope between wanting so desperately to be with his best mate that it felt like a need and not falling overboard and losing himself in doing something stupid. He’d spent all night fighting to keep himself on the very precipice of _just mates_. He didn’t want to do it anymore tonight.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
He blinked. Oh right, verbal responses.  
  
“Yea. Think I will. Cheers.”  
  
Liam arched a brow at him a moment but then he smiled, clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder and squeezed, the grip firm and almost too-supportive, as though he had a feeling Harry needed it.  
  
"Payment is a proper fry up tomorrow. Could do with your cooking."  
  
Laughter bubbled up like relief. That was something he could do.  
  
"Thanks, Payno."  
  
Liam pulled him into a hug and he sank into it.  
  
"Don't mention it." He pulled back and yawned, shaking his head and pushing the heel of his hand into one eye. "I'm out. Night, Harry."  
  
A few minutes later, with sleep bearing fast down upon him, Liam passed out in bed and Paul long gone back to the club, Harry dragged himself from the kitchen with a glass of water on his way to Liam’s extra bedroom. The pitch black of the night outside Liam’s windows, which wasn’t exactly pitch black because London, was comforting. He sank down onto the halfway-mark of his journey - the sofa in the living room - and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was going to finish this water before he slept, knew better than to skip it. His eyelids were heavy and he fell back into the cool leather, comfortable and soft. Like leather clouds. He liked clouds, soft and fluffy, beautiful no matter what shape. Louis’s hair sometimes reminded him of clouds, especially in the morning, sleep-rumpled or without product or before Lou styled it in the dressing rooms.  
  
Oh.  
  
He pulled out his phone and typed out a quick message to Louis before he forgot, holding it up above his head and trying not to squint at the light emanating from the screen but still keep everything in focus.  
  
_Staying at Payno’s. Text me when you’re home._  
  
For a moment his heart tugged, like a little curious creature wondering why he’d stopped here, at Liam’s, why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t going home to Louis. Asking questions that seemed so simple but weren’t simple at all. He dropped his phone over his heart as though he could push his confused wee creature back down. He’d stay here a few more minutes and then move to the guest bed.  
  
His mobile dinged a few minutes later, but his eyes were already closed and he didn’t want to move. He knew what it likely said anyway.  
  
_Yes mum_  
  
It made him smile and he wanted to keep smiling, too exhausted to fight the war with his mind. For just a moment he allowed himself to remember Louis’s body pressed against his own, the unconscious sway of their hips and the heat of Louis' skin under his lips.

*

He came to with his little creature of a heart pounding madly against the cage of his ribs, sweat coating his palms and the lingering pulse of terror, of black tendrils oozing back from his heart and lungs. As though it knew he was awake now, his heart let up, slowly calming back down again.  
  
Harry wasn’t one to really remember his dreams. They left him only with vague impressions in the morning, overwhelming feelings when he opened his eyes that told him whether he’d had a good dream or a nightmare. The faint shake to his limbs told him it had been _that_ nightmare. He’d had it before, the vague sense of familiarity still clinging to his consciousness told him so. He’d been having it for at least a year and a half now, off and on, knew there was running, there was darkness, knew he was alone. Knew that he was always so grateful he was alone and even more grateful for the glow of his eyelids come morning.  
  
Wait.  
  
His eyelids were glowing.  
  
Why were his eyelids glowing.  
  
Right. Sunlight. Way more sunlight than normal.  
  
Harry squinted, peeked one eye open and immediately shut them again, reaching up to try and pull the mess of cotton clogging his ears and brain off his head.  
  
Oh. Nope, that was hair. Hair and a hangover. Only one of those he really wanted to go away.  
  
He tugged at his curls, let the sharp pull drag some of the fuzzy fog out of his mind, and stared at his surroundings. Liam’s living room. Cool tones and grey stones and a wall of windows in a weird blend of modern log cabin that was somehow fit for parties and cold February nights by the fireplace at the same time.  
  
He must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.  
  
Shit.  
  
He didn’t want to move now. If he didn’t move he could pretend that his lower back wasn’t currently a predatory animal crouched, low and growling, waiting to pounce the moment he did.  
  
He twitched.  
  
His back twinged.  
  
He groaned inwardly. He didn’t even have a proper pillow out here. What had he been thinking last night?  
  
Louis. Louis’s body pressed against his chest, Louis’s eyes, too bright and too blue as he turned to face him, lips against his ear, their hips moving-  
  
Shit. Shit shit shit.  
  
In the harsh daylight of reality, his mind fixated on the way Louis had frozen, the way he’d slowly but deliberately pushed Harry away, the way Harry had interrupted his dancing like some bloody unbalanced arsehole. Well, he had been unbalanced.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, groaned again, scrubbed his hands over his face and then left them there, covering his eyes to block out the sunlight. He inhaled slowly, focusing on the fill of air into his lungs.  
  
He hadn’t meant to do it, least not consciously, but he hadn’t even thought of apologizing either. Louis was his best mate and he deserved better than that. Instead Harry had all but groped him because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He couldn’t stop himself from trapping Louis against him and rolling their hips, burning an infinity symbol into the air with the sway of their bodies, crushed together in a mess of searing heat where even now he couldn’t remember where he’d ended and Louis began and -  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
He’d been up all of four minutes and he already needed his word for the day. Fuck. He mentally scrolled through the list.  
  
_Colonel_. C-O-L-O-N-E-L. Kernel. Kernel. Colon. Ker. How did an arsehole turn into _ker_? Why did the French not know how to spell? Where did this even come from? Why were they naming a serious war leader a colon? If he really thought about it, there was no respect in being a little colon, a colon-el, a—  
  
“I’ve invited the lads over, since you’re cooking.” Liam set down a cup of tea and glass of water on the small table next to the sofa, as though his spidey-senses had known Harry was awake. Then again, the main area of Liam’s flat was an open floor plan, so he probably saw Harry from the kitchen.  
  
No. Liam definitely had spidey-senses, Harry was sure of it. But right now Harry couldn’t tell if Liam was frowning because of a hangover or frowning because of Harry, but frowning while saying he invited the lads over didn’t make much sense.  
  
Liam straightened, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“You couldn’t make it to the bed? Really?”  
  
Ah. That’s the frown. Harry at least knew to look proper sorry about it.  
  
“Was sat only for a moment. Wasn’t planning on staying here,” he rasped, finally sitting up and wincing as his back immediately protested, nipping his nerve endings right up his spine into the base of his skull.  
  
Instead of commenting on the fact that Harry wouldn’t be able to sing his way out of a primary school choir, much less into the hearts of millions of fans right now, Liam just shook his head, popping open the bottle of paracetamol and pouring out four.  
  
“Two for your head, two for your back, right?” While Harry nodded and threw back the pills, swallowed them down with the water Liam had also brought, Liam sighed, twisting the cap back on. “Tommo’s gonna kill me.”  
  
Harry finished the entire glass and his voice sounded mildly human now.  
  
“You were drunk and already asleep.”  
  
“Since when has logic ever worked with him?”  
  
“He’s plenty logical.”  
  
“Uh huh. Not with you.” Liam lightly slapped his thigh, motioning to the clothes he’d grabbed from the extra bedroom that were tossed on the back of the sofa. “You forgot to change your kit last night too. Might as well now.”  
  
Ah. The perks of being five blokes all just about the same size. As Liam left the room Harry grabbed his phone and checked the lock screen: two messages from Louis and a string of messages in their group text, presumably Liam inviting the others over. He opened his chat with Louis. Surprisingly, neither one of his responses had used the word mum.  
  
_Sat, Feb 16, 3:25 AM:_ _  
cheers  
  
Sat, Feb 16, 5:14 AM:  
home_  
  
Harry blinked, tried to make sense of the first message only to remember how plastered Louis had been when Harry had seen him last. He shook his head and decided to just send a message, before grabbing the clothes and half-shuffling towards the bathroom. A hot shower would do wonders for more than just his back.  
  
_Sat, Feb 16, 12:28 PM:_ _  
Get your lazy arse up. I’m making breakfast at Liam’s._

*

  
  
  
  
“Where’s Tommo?” Niall asked 45 minutes later when the four of them were congregated in the kitchen, three of them seated on one side of the island while Harry was stood at the other side, chopping peppers next to the hob. They’d all opted to wear the comfiest clothing, trackies and tees and hoodies. He might be wearing Liam’s, but they may as well all be in the hangover uniform.  
  
“Probably still asleep.” Liam shrugged. “Never answered. He said anything to you, Harry?”  
  
Harry set the knife down, wiped his hands and fished his phone out of his pocket, scanning for notifications on the lock screen before shaking his head.  
  
“He sleeps like it’s going out of business on the days he isn’t so plastered he can’t walk straight,” Zayn pointed out, leaning back in his chair far enough to crack his back. “I’m not surprised he’s still out now.”  
  
Harry frowned, the knife poised over the chopping board as he paused to look at Zayn. The three of them must’ve really filled up after he and Liam left last night if Louis was that wasted. Louis could hold his alcohol. It took a lot to get him to _that_ level of drunk.  
  
“You made sure he got in, right?” Just because Louis had texted that he was home didn’t mean he’d texted once he was _inside_.  
  
“Course we did, _mum_.” Zayn arched one fine eyebrow at him, eyes lit up in barely-concealed amusement despite looking as rough around the edges as Harry felt. His eyes were a bit red-rimmed and his hair more mussed than usual. He must’ve showered right before getting here, because the black strands were still damp. “So did Paul. Standard practice and all.”  
  
Of course. Harry knew that. But he brandished the blade towards Zayn anyway, tried to look as stern as possible.  
  
“Don’t sass the one feeding you.”  
  
“Unless your name rhymes with blue,” Niall quipped, entire face lit up with far too much energy for a morning after with only coffee in his stomach. Bloody Irish. Harry turned the knife towards him and just said—  
  
“No.”  
  
“New?” Liam asked Harry curiously.  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose in confusion. Maybe Liam was more hung over than he thought. He looked the most put together, had probably had the most sleep too, but-  
  
Liam continued, “True? Clue? Fondue? Flu?”  
  
Niall burst out laughing and Harry just groaned, shook his head and resumed his chopping.  
  
“I’d rather feed that sass than watch him try and prove you can survive on Coco Pops alone.” He chopped off the stem of a pepper and used the knife to flick it in Liam’s direction.  
  
“He did try to prove it, didn’t he? Made it about a week if I’m remembering right,” Liam mused, idly watching the stem come to rest halfway between them.  
  
“Yea, until Harry filled all the boxes he had left with Weetabix and Muesli,” Niall cackled, tipping his mug towards Harry in a silent cheer.  
  
Harry shrugged, giving in to a smirk. Louis had threatened to replace his collection of romantic comedies with Jason Statham films after that one. He’d yet to follow through on that promise though. After all, it had been in the middle of a long string of threats against Harry’s person, belongings, and pride. Harry wasn’t about to remind him either. He had nothing against Jason Statham, but his undying love for his rom-com collection was, as Louis had once put it, ‘mildly concerning’.  
  
“Hey, just because you declare your undying love for something doesn’t mean you should assume it’ll always be there.”  
  
Hm. Maybe he should consider getting a glass cabinet with a lock for his collection.  
  
“That how you decide all your pranks then?” Zayn tilted his head to the side as he watched Harry. “Some deep philosophical lesson to get Tommo to lay off the cereal?”  
  
Harry barked out a laugh then shook his head.  
  
“Nah, I just pay close attention to whatever he’s fixated on that week. Works a charm. Either way, least you lot know how to appreciate actual food.”  
  
Honestly. _Coco Pops_. And yet somehow Harry was the alien?  
  
_You are an alien, Haz. Heartless bloody alien who doesn’t know the taste of a good thing._ _  
_  
Harry snorted. His mind must be making up for Louis’s absence by filling in for him, because now he was mentally talking like he was born and raised in Doncaster. Great. Besides, just because he’d never get a chance to taste certain things he just knew would be delicious didn’t mean he had no taste at all. His buds worked far better than Louis’s did anyway.  
  
_That why you got four instead of two, you heathen? Real humans only have two, you know. And you talk too slow for Donny._  
  
He blinked, paused, stared hard between Liam and Niall at the far windows across the flat. Well that was new. Maybe _he_ was more hung over than he thought.  
  
He really should have slept in the guest bedroom rather than on the sofa.  
  
_You bloody tit_.  
  
Yea, he probably was. Prat, twat, nutter, daft ... his back had plenty of names to call him right about now, just less intense than ‘arsehole’ because the hot shower he’d taken and pills from Liam were working blissful wonders on the pain.  
  
_Still pretty sure the word you’re looking for is tit._  
  
“Hey.” Niall spread his arms out, almost thunking Zayn in the chest. “I’m open for any and all nosh, especially when it’s right in front of me.” He glanced down at the empty space in front of him where food should be.  
  
Harry lobbed a piece of chopped pepper at Niall, grinning when it smacked him in the forehead.  
  
“Keep your pants on, Nialler, quality takes time.”  
  
He'd promised them all a proper fry up, not a bowl of cereal. Besides, cereal would do nothing for the deep-seated need for greasy and substantial that came with being out on the lash the night before. And if it took longer to make that was fine. Maybe it would still be warm by the time Louis woke up and actually checked his mobile.  
  
_Mobiles are overrated. You should just go check yourself._  
  
Harry shook his head and pushed the peppers into the fry pan with the blunt edge of the knife, trying to ignore the pang of uncertainty that squiggled through his body and made him want to shake out his limbs. He pulled out his phone, checked for any new messages from Louis. Nothing.  
  
_No surprises there._ _  
_  
No, Harry wasn’t surprised, but for some reason he felt like he should be. He scratched at his bicep with the back of the wooden spatula he’d picked up, focusing on the mix of vegetables sizzling in the pan before asking, “Anyone tried calling Lou? This’ll be ready soon.”  
  
_Won’t matter. Can’t pick it up._ _  
_  
He jerked.  
  
“I’ll give it a go.” Zayn pulled out his phone. Harry focused on putting the first four pieces of bread in the toaster. A few moments later Zayn shook his head, setting it back down again.  
  
_Told you._ _  
_  
Harry set the spatula down and rubbed at his temples, sighing. The last thing he needed right now was to get hung up on Louis. He had absolutely no reason to believe that Louis not answering had to do with anything but sleeping in and sleeping off the alcohol. His mind flashed back to last night, the bright look on Louis’s face when he’d last seen him, how he’d looked so—  
  
_Colonel_. C-o-l-o-n-e-l. Kernel. A little colon, leader of an army of even littler arseholes. It was the French. It had to be the French. No. Maybe the French say the word the way it sounds. Maybe the Brits were the ones to muck it all up and turn a high-ranking soldier into a piece of corn. Kernel of corn. Popcorn. Corn Pops. Wasn’t that a cereal? Coco Pops were a cereal.  
  
Fuck.  
  
_Jesus, Haz. You do talk some shit but I never realized you think it too._ _  
_  
Harry jumped. The spatula flew out of his hand and he fumbled to catch it but it ended up clattering to the floor. He stared down at it in shock.  
  
“You alright, Haz?” Liam asked from somewhere behind him. Harry hadn’t even heard him get up to put the kettle on for more tea. He shook his head quickly to clear it even as he said yes a few too many times to be believable.  
  
“Yea, yea, yes, yea, sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.”  
  
_Yea, definitely not all that believable. Might want to try actually acting next time, pumpkin._ _  
_  
He’d lost the plot. He’d officially lost the plot. What the hell did he _drink_ last night? He searched frantically through his memories but couldn’t remember anything suspicious.  
  
_Still staring at the spatula, huh. Think your superpowers might be lacking today._ _  
_  
He snatched up the spatula and whirled around, jerking the tap on. Maybe the running water could flush the crazy from his brain.  
  
“You’re looking a bit peaky there, Harry,” Niall supplied, slow and unsure and mildly concerned. Harry turned back and flashed them all a quick smile. He ducked down and shook out his hair so he could push it out of his face, using the moment to hide his face from the other lads.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
_Or maybe you’re just dreaming? Your head’s always in the clouds anyway, Curly._ _  
_  
Yes. Yes, he must be dreaming still. Some sort of massively mental alcohol-induced fever dream. That was the only explanation for why he kept hearing _Louis_ in his head.  
  
He set the rinsed-off spatula aside and pinched at the sensitive skin right in his inner elbow _hard_. Nothing happened. Niall, Zayn, and Liam were all still watching him curiously, the vegetables were still sizzling in the pan, he was still in the kitchen at Liam’s flat. He wasn’t dreaming.  
  
_Well shit. I really really fucking hoped we were._ _  
_  
Some strange noise must’ve come out of his mouth because he hit the back of his hand against his lips and now the other three were looking really bloody concerned.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” he managed, dashing out of the room and locking himself in the smaller guest toilet off the front hallway of Liam’s flat. He took a few moments to stare at his face in the mirror before splashing it with water, not caring that he wet down half his mostly-dry curls.  
  
_Good look, that, if you’re going for drowned frog, of course._ _  
_  
He whirled away from the mirror, grabbed his phone out and immediately dialed Louis, listening to it ring.  
  
_Yea, about that._ _  
_  
“Lou, I swear to god, answer your bloody phone,” he mumbled to himself, shoving a hand through his hair again. Maybe his mind just needed to actually hear Louis’s voice and remember that Louis was a real person or something.  
  
_I’d love to. Really, really fucking would. But there seems to be a slight problem with that._ _  
_  
The line went to voicemail. Harry hung up, redialed, listened again.  
  
He nearly flew into the opposite wall, leaping off the edge of the sink when someone knocked on the door.  
  
“Harry, you alright, mate?”  
  
Leave it to Liam.  
  
He took a few deep breaths, shoved his phone back in the pocket of his borrowed trackies and fixed his hair the best he could before jerking the door open to reveal Liam’s confused and very concerned face.  
  
“Yea. Yea, just felt a bit sick for a moment there.”  
  
“Maybe you should sit a spell. Nialler can finish the food.”  
  
“No no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”  
  
_He’ll eat the lot of it before it even gets plated. Best not._ _  
_  
Harry plastered a smile on his face and tugged Liam back towards the kitchen, saying as he went, “could really do with another cuppa though.”  
  
_With too much sugar, of course. Hello, earth to Hazza, wee problem here, remember?_ _  
_   
Harry set about checking the tomatoes, the temperature of the baked beans ( _ugh, bloody awful those_ ), and finishing the omelettes, working perhaps a bit faster than strictly necessary. Anything to make the noises of the kitchen drown out the mess in his mind.  
  
_Haz_.  
  
He bent down to pull the roasted tomatoes out of the oven, putting them on the plates he’d set out.  
  
_Hazza._ _  
_  
“Here, Harry.” Liam stopped him to press a mug into his hand, holding onto it until he was absolutely sure that Harry had a hold on it. Harry leaned back against the worktop and took a grateful sip.  
  
_Oh good, well at least one of us can enjoy a cuppa right now._ _  
_  
Harry wasn’t sure what was clenched more: his jaw or his grip on the mug.  
  
“Christ, mate. If it tastes that fucking bad just toss it,” Niall said from where he was watching curiously. Harry just shook his head, took another sip.  
  
“It’s great. Sorry, just—...worried about Lou is all.” And his sanity.  
  
_Could’ve fooled me. Worried means you’d talk to me._ _  
_  
“Why? He’s probably still sleeping,” Zayn spoke up cautiously, gauging the best way to handle Harry right now. “He’ll wake up, have some Coco Pops, whinge about the awful shit he feels like, moan that we should have somehow waited for him. The usual.”  
  
_You need to go back to ours. And tell Zayn he’s a wanker too._ _  
_  
Harry’s eyes widened at the utter absurdity of that idea. Of both ideas. Yes, that would work out quite well. “ _Sorry, lads, but I’m having hallucinations and I keep hearing Louis in my head. So I need to go home and make sure he’s fine. Oh and to get you to believe me, Zayn, you’re also a wanker._ ”  
  
_He is a wanker, he’ll believe you._ _  
_  
He snorted. Alright, two could play at this game. Maybe he just needed to acknowledge it and this madness would stop. After all, isn’t that what his brain just said?  
  
_“So where are you then? Does this mean you’re just lying around somewhere?”_ He thought to himself.  
  
_Like some sleeping fucking dragon? Waiting for some charming soul to kiss me back to fucking human or kill me and steal all me treasure?_  
  
A scowl etched itself onto Harry's face before he could stop it. He was going to kill his mind. None of this was fair. And the moment he saw Louis he was going to kill him too. Or kiss him, since apparently his mind was making veiled threats about that now. He hadn’t decided yet. But right now he was leaning very heavily towards kill.  
  
_Purely unbiased standpoint here, but you’d get further with the other option._ _  
_  
“Harry!” He jerked his head up to find Niall actually standing in front of him and Liam pulling the toast out of the toaster. He had no idea how long it’d been sitting there. And he had a feeling this wasn’t the first time Niall had called his name.  
  
“What?”  
  
Zayn rolled his eyes and stood up, catching Harry’s arm and dragging him to the other side of the island where he pushed him down into the middle seat.  
  
“Sit.” He then brought over his tea and plunked it down in front of him. “Drink.” Harry opened his mouth to argue; Zayn held up a hand. “Stop.”  
  
He moved to help Liam finish plating the food as Niall plopped back down next to Harry, a strange mixture of confusion and concern on his face.  
  
“What’s going on with you?”  
  
_You need to go home._ _  
_  
He was not going to go home. Whatever misguided insanity his mind was kicking up, he was not making the twenty-minute trip just to wake Louis up. That was a suicide mission. He chose life. He was very much pro-choice and he wanted to live.  
  
_Haz, I’m serious. You need to go back to ours._ _  
_  
The voice in his mind was _not_ going to make him do anything. He had more control than that. He was very clearly slipping into some weird-arse hallucinogenic shit, but he still had control over his own insanity. The shit in his mind was not about to come out of his mouth.  
  
_The shit in your mind always comes out your mouth. Just go._ _  
_  
No.  
  
_Haz, go! ...Don’t make me make you._ _  
_  
Harry took a deep breath, took a sip of his tea, ignored what sounded like an intake of breath echoing through his brain.  
  
The voice in his head suddenly yelled, loud and obnoxious like those times Louis had randomly screamed during their X-factor video diaries, piercing straight through his skull.  
  
Harry choked on the last of the tea he’d almost swallowed and nearly dropped the cup, throwing his hands up to cover his ears.  
  
The moment he did the scream cut off.  
  
Niall, Zayn, and Liam were all frozen, staring at him.  
  
_Just go, Haz._ _  
_  
He slumped over in his chair, hiding his face from view, not bothering to take his hands out of his hair.  
  
“Someone please ring Paul for me? Think I need to go back to mine.”  
  
He needed to go and check on Louis and just get this mess sorted. Wake his best mate up, come up with some logical reason why he’d needed to wake him, let Louis call him colourful names until he rolled over and fell back asleep and then go and sleep all of this off himself.  
  
And none of the other lads needed to know.  
  
_...I’ll call you colourful names right now if that’s what you need, you white-arsed toad._ _  
_  
Harry groaned and refused to pick his head up from the table until Zayn shoved a plate of food under his arms and insisted that he may as well eat while he waited for the ride.  
  
“Did something happen last night?” he asked quietly as Harry sat up fully so Zayn could push the plate in front of him. They weren’t exactly alone, but Harry assumed he must look rough enough that Zayn felt the need to throw caution and ask anyway.  
  
Louis. Louis pressed against him, warm and searing and burning him up from the inside. Louis’s fingers on his jaw, Louis’s lips against his ear. Louis Louis Louis. He couldn’t get Louis out of his mind.  
  
Literally.  
  
Harry shook his head too quickly.  
  
“Yes.” And then he nodded and added, “no.”  
  
Zayn’s eyebrows arched up and then curved inward in a movement so smooth Harry actually noticed it and felt mildly impressed. He thumped his forehead twice against Zayn’s arm, the one not being used to help Zayn lean against the island.  
  
“Reckon I just need more sleep.”  
  
Zayn’s lips pressed together as he studied him, but in the end he nodded, squeezing Harry’s wrist once before pulling away to take the plate Liam was offering to him.


	2. Chapter 2

He borrowed a pair of earbuds from Liam and spent almost the entire twenty-minute ride back to the flat he shared with Louis listening to Coldplay on his phone on the loudest volume his hung-over brain would allow. He was grateful the driver Paul had sent to pick him up recognized that Harry really wasn’t in the mood to talk.  
  
He tried calling Louis one more time but when the voice in his head said, _give it a rest, you yellow-toed tadpole_ , (his brain was still hung up on calling him colourful names and had been through white, orange, blue, and purple with some form of aquatic animal so far) he gave up. It went to mail yet again anyway.  
  
Part of him couldn’t help but be impressed though. He apparently knew Louis well enough that his mind was quite capable of not only mimicking him but mimicking his lightning-fast wit too. That made Harry inherently witty too, didn’t it?  
  
 _As witty as a green-eyed guppy, pumpkin._ _  
_  
He pressed his lips tight together, turned the music back on and the volume up one more notch.  
  
He spent the rest of the ride trying to come up with a good excuse for why he’d decided he needed to drive all the way back just to wake Louis up. Voices in his head that sound exactly like his best mate, while the truth, really wouldn’t be believable to a very hung over and woken-up-against-his-will Louis.  
  
So far all he had was nothing. He knew the voice in his head wasn’t really Louis too (besides being an utterly absurd idea to begin with), because it had insisted before he left Liam’s that he didn’t need to worry about waking him.  
  
Right. And his name wasn’t really Harry Styles.  
  
Instead of some quip about his name that he was sure would have followed, all he heard were the dulcet tones of Chris Martin’s voice. Small blessings.  
  
He kept the music playing as he waved his thanks to the driver, as he unlocked the door and as he turned off the alarm that Louis apparently had been just sober enough to set when he got in this morning. He glanced around for some sign that Louis was awake - a bowl in the sink, telly on, anything - but the flat was quiet. The flat was only quiet if Louis wasn’t there or if Louis was asleep. He sighed, toed off his shoes, tucked them neatly against the wall next to the door, dropped his clothes from last night on the table by the door and made his way down the hall towards Louis’s room.  
  
Only then did he cut the music.  
  
He rubbed his fingers against his temple and knocked.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
He should have asked Liam to pack up some of the breakfast. That would have been his best excuse yet. Shit.  
  
 _Coco Pops are a good peace offering._ _  
_  
He groaned, thunked his forehead against the door three times before trying again.  
  
“Louis, you awake?”  
  
 _Will you just go in already? Stop bloody stalling, Haz._ _  
_  
He wasn’t stalling. He was respecting privacy, being a good flatmate and most importantly, prolonging his life.  
  
 _Harry._ _  
_  
“Alright alright,” he mumbled to himself, carefully opening the door and peeking his head inside.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
He nearly tripped over the pair of black Toms right in front of the door, as though Louis had toed them off this morning right as he walked into his room.  
  
His room was nothing short of organized mayhem: clothes all over the floor, dishes on the windowsill, glasses and bottles piled on the nightstands and wardrobe.  
  
Only a tornado could do this much chaos to a bedroom. He wondered if their PR team had somehow gotten BBC to sign an NDA, because surely the proof that a tornado had touched down somewhere in the greater London area would have been all over the news.  
  
 _Of course they did, Haz. You really think I want me room all over national telly? This isn’t Gogglebox: Celebrity Edition._ _  
_  
Harry shook his head, finally releasing the doorknob and nudging the shoes Louis had been wearing last night to the side. Their lives certainly felt that way, sometimes. One of the not-so-great side effects of becoming famous. Personally though, he’d say Louis’s life, with his flare for the dramatic, was more like a soap opera, but Gogglebox wasn’t far off either.  
  
 _Coronation Room, check back later for the new time slot at arse o’clock in the morning._ _  
_  
Harry honestly didn’t mind the mess. For one, it wasn’t his room anyway, but somehow the mess felt so fitting for Louis. It never seemed purposeful, but more like Louis’s quick mind was flitting so fast from one thing to another that he simply forgot what he was doing and moved on to the next, leaving a trail of clothing or dishes or Harry’s sanity in his wake.  
  
Sometimes Harry liked to think it worked perfectly, Louis’s messiness and his tidiness. Cleaning always helped him calm down or clear his head. If he didn’t have Louis constantly making messes, he’d have little to clean when he actually needed it.  
  
 _Sure, Haz. That’s exactly it. Leave it all for you because I know it helps you sleep at night._ _  
_  
He could visualize what had happened when Louis got home last night. Three steps from the shoes he pulled off his shirt next, the exploding-head tee had landed right about here, at the corner of the bed and halfway to the en-suite bathroom, which had the crumpled pair of black jeans in the doorway where Louis had used the doorframe to hold on and pull them off. Harry clenched his fists and willed away the image of Louis undressing to the furthest recesses of his fucked up mind before he could fixate on what was under-  
  
Fuck fuck. Colonel. C-o-l-o-n-e-l. Little corn pop, leading a horde of Corn Pops.  
  
 _Something is very wrong with your wiring, Haz. May want to get that checked next time your brethren come down to abduct you._  
  
Harry took a deep breath and waded through the clothes maze on the floor to the edge of the bed, finally glancing down at the figure in it.  
  
Louis was sleeping soundly, lying on his back with one arm beneath the pillow, bunching it up towards his cheek. His bird tattoo, the one he’d gotten only a few weeks ago on his forearm, stared up at Harry accusingly from where his other arm rested across his stomach, daring him to keep going. Louis had never told him why he’d changed his mind last October about getting tattoos. Louis had changed into his pair of blue plaid pyjama bottoms, but it looked like he’d only managed to flop into the bed before falling asleep, because the deep red duvet and grey sheets were rucked up around his feet, leaving most of his body bare.  
  
Harry hesitated, then tried again.  
  
“Lou, wake up.”  
  
Louis didn’t move.  
  
Harry swallowed, his gaze resting on the ‘78’ on Louis’s chest, just as new as the bird, before he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and leaned down. He nudged Louis' shoulder.  
  
“Louis. Lou, wake up. Louis.”  
  
He tried to ignore the tendrils of worry beginning to spike around his heart and lungs when Louis didn’t show any signs of hearing him or waking up, even after Harry shoved him hard enough to rock him against the pillow.  
  
“What the fuck. What the fuck, Lou. Come on.”  
  
 _I’ve been trying to tell you, but-_ _  
_  
He sat down near Louis’s hip, took a deep breath through his nose and raised his hand.  
  
 _If you slap me so help me Harold I will cut your bloody balls o-_ _  
_  
 _Smack._ _  
_  
It wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark, but the sound of his palm hitting Louis’s cheek echoed through the room. Louis didn’t react. If this were any other situation he’d make a comment about how Louis was probably too used to being slapped in the face for it to be a shock anymore.  
  
 _You cock-faced tit your balls are fucking mine when I get out of-_ _  
_  
“Shit. Shit shit,” Harry muttered under his breath, which was picking up now. He touched the backs of his fingers to Louis’s cheek. Warm.  
  
Ok. Good sign.  
  
He pressed a hand to Louis’s chest. Heartbeat - slow, resting heart rate - very much there.  
  
Ok. Also good sign.  
  
He took a deep breath, letting out the shaky exhale as calmly as possible. Although Louis looked a wee bit pale and a little rough around the edges as one would after drinking so much, his skin wasn't clammy.  
  
Another good sign.  
  
Not waking up though? Very bad sign.  
  
Was this a coma? Did Louis somehow end up in a fucking coma after a night out? Harry hadn’t ever seen anyone get alcohol poisoning, but even he knew that not waking up after a night drinking was _Bad_. A spike of fear drilled into his heart and he pulled out his phone with his free hand, left the other one on Louis’s chest, rising and falling with his breathing, and dialed in 999.  
  
 _DON’T._ _  
_  
The voice was loud enough to startle the phone out of his hand and he bent to pick it up after it clattered to the floor.  
  
 _Hazza, listen to me. It’s me. I am awake. I’m just not...fuck. Not...me._ _  
_  
Harry froze, staring from Louis’s peaceful face to his phone and back again, then shook himself out of it and moved towards the call button.  
  
 _Nialler slipped dancing with a bird last night and brought them both down._ The voice rushed out. _Ask him, Haz. You’d have no way of knowing that. I fucking swear it’s me._ _  
_  
Harry's thumb hovered over the button.  
  
Christ, what was he doing? Was he really about to entertain this? He had no idea what Niall, Zayn, and Louis had gotten up to after he and Liam left, or if this was when he was with Zayn and Liam at the table, but that sounded so ridiculous he wasn’t sure his mind would make up something like that.  
  
He swiped out of the phone app and brought up his chat with Niall.  
  
 _Sat, Feb 16, 2:36 PM_ _  
Did you slip and take out a girl while you were dancing last night?  
_  
He only had to wait about 30 seconds before Niall’s response came back.  
  
 _Fuck no Don’t listen to Louis that fucker that’s not what happened at all_ _  
_  
Harry stared down at his phone, mouth open. He looked up, stared at the far corner of Louis’s room and thought, tentatively, as though putting a hand through a hole into a box with unknown contents-  
  
 _“Lou?”_ _  
_  
The voice came through, very loud and clear this time, like he’d answered the phone.  
  
 _In the fucking flesh. Or well, fuck. In wherever the fuck I am. Your bloody mind apparently. Took you long enough._ _  
_  
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Harry blurted, glancing back down at Louis' sleeping figure and jerking his hand off Louis’s chest as though he’d been burned. What the _actual fuck_ was going on.  
  
 _Well, after I started thinking that maybe this wasn’t just some sick dream of me own, I did try. You haven’t been listening._  
  
He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but now that he was allowing himself to believe that he was really talking to Louis, the voice in his head was louder, like he’d turned the volume up, as though he were just talking to Louis on the phone, except instead of holding the phone to his ear he was using earbuds, so Louis’s voice came in through both ears.  
  
Now that Harry thought about it, it’d feel much more normal if he did that now, so he put the earbuds back in, for the sake of his own sanity. Leaning with his elbows on his knees to scrub his hands over his face, he deliberately didn't look at Louis’ sleeping body right next to him. That would break the illusion, his last semblance of sanity.  
  
“You never actually said, ‘oh hey, Harry, it’s me, Louis, stuck in your head, you’re not just hearing things’.”  
  
 _I’m flattered to think you find me voice in your head normal._ _  
_  
“Not what I meant.”  
  
 _Oh hey, Harry, it’s me, Louis, stuck in your head. You’re not just hearing things._ _  
_  
Harry just groaned, not even bothering to respond to that. Neither of them spoke for few minutes, if what Louis was doing could even be called speaking.  
  
 _...This is shit._ _  
_  
“This can’t be real,” Harry mumbled, turning to look back at Louis, as though maybe he’d moved or something.  
  
 _Oh really? Because it feels really fucking real to me. Because I can’t_ ** _feel_** _anything and now I’m staring down at me own body like some sort of sado-narcissist and-_ _  
_  
Harry sat up straight.  
  
“What does that mean? What are you-” he waved his hand around, trying to find a word, “-experiencing?”  
  
It was enough to cut off Louis before he could get even more agitated and he sighed.  
  
Harry actually heard him sigh.  
  
What the fuck.  
  
It was like Louis was standing right behind his shoulder no matter where he turned.  
  
 _I don’t know, Haz. I can hear everything you say, think and hear. I can see everything you see and I think you can hear everything I say. That’s all I’ve got._ _  
_  
Harry paled, stared straight at the bare wall between the two windows in Louis’s room as hard as he possibly could.  
  
“Everything?”  
  
Louis must’ve heard his voice go all tight and slightly squeaky, because he didn’t answer for two dreadful beats.  
  
 _Yea. Everything._ _  
_  
Shit. Shit shit shit fuck shit fuck fuck fucking shit shitting fuck fuck.  
  
 _Jesus. Someone’s got some shit they don’t want anyone to know._ _  
_  
“Like you don’t?!” He might actually need to find his inhaler.  
  
 _The fuck is that supposed to mean?_ _  
_  
“Exactly what it sounds like. Everyone has secrets. Don’t tell me you don’t.”  
  
Louis didn’t answer. That didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. His silence was answer enough and he knew Louis well enough to know that not answering was Louis’s way of forcing a subject change. This time Harry didn’t disagree.  
  
Everything. Fucking everything. He could just picture it now, Louis standing in front of a massive library of his thoughts, picking them out at random but very much not randomly at all, scanning each and every one of his secrets. He quickly cut the image before Louis could get any ideas.  
  
Louis didn’t say anything. That was unusual. He normally couldn’t help himself. Finally Harry couldn’t stand the wait.  
  
“What. Nothing?”  
  
 _Nothing what?_ _  
_  
A burst of hope erupted in his chest and he tried again, drawing up another image, this time of a massive field of flowers. It wasn’t logical at all, so it would surely pull a comment from Louis.  
  
Louis again said nothing.  
  
Harry tried one more time, conjuring something that surely Louis wouldn’t be able to stay silent about: Louis wearing a pink polka-dotted tutu. It was ridiculous enough that Harry couldn’t even quite pull it off.  
  
But Louis didn’t say anything.  
  
“Still nothing?”  
  
 _Harold, you’re making less sense than usual. You haven’t actually said anything, you know._ _  
_  
Small, small, beautifully small miracles. Oh thank you, thank you. Miracles existed.  
  
 _Course they exist. I’m here, aren’t I?_ _  
_  
“You can’t see them.”  
  
 _See what?_ _  
_  
“What I just pictured.”  
  
Louis was silent for a moment. Harry couldn’t quite place his tone when he said, _guess you won’t be sharing any juicy daydreams with me then. Pity._  
  
Louis was definitely amused, but it had the slight edge of dark humour to it that it almost threw Harry. But he was too grateful for this small miracle to dwell on it so he immediately shook his head, pushing out a short laugh of relief.  
  
“Definitely not.”  
  
Alright, maybe he could handle this. They could get through this. He could do this. They could do this. He could picture fields of flowers and Louis in silly outfits all he wanted and Louis would be none the wiser.  
  
 _There it is. Knew you’d think it eventually. Silly outfits, huh? Something you want to tell me, Haz?_ _  
_  
Harry moaned, as pitifully as he could make it sound.  
  
There was no way he was going to get through this.  
  
He sank down until he was completely folded over with his head between his knees, his arms flopped so his hands hit the floor. His back twinged, but hanging his head helped clear the dizziness that had started to fog his brain. He tried to ignore how sweaty his palms had become, tried to calm down the best way he knew how.  
  
“I can’t live like this.”  
  
 _Well I wouldn’t recommend listing this place on Location, Location, Location either. You won’t get any offers. Interior decoration and layout are bloody abysmal and the view leaves something to be desired._ _  
_  
‘This place.’ His mind. His fucking mind. Jesus what was his life right now.  
  
“Want to put that to a vote? Ask our fans if any of them disagree?” He was speaking before his mind even caught up, because verbal ping-pong with Louis was automatic, some sort of neurological tick.  
  
He splayed his arms like a circus presenter without actually sitting up, staring at the hardwood floor of Louis’s bedroom. “Step right up for a chance to spend the night in Harry Styles’s mind! See everything he sees! Hear all his bloody secrets! Anything goes!”  
  
He flopped his hands back down again and let his head drop, shoving all the air out of his lungs until he’d deflated like the Dali clock in South Bank, trying not to moan again.  
  
“What the _fuck_ did you _do_ last night, Lou?”  
  
 _What makes you think_ ** _I_** _did anything? What the fuck did_ ** _you_** _do last night?_ _  
_  
He shoved up from Louis’s bed and paced towards one of the windows, thumping his forehead against the cool glass.  
  
“I went out with my mates, drank, danced, talked, went home, slept, and _woke up_. Something that, by the way, you have yet to do.” He threw his arm out towards the bed, realized Louis couldn’t see the action and shoved his hand through his hair instead.  
  
 _...You need to tell the lads._ _  
_  
If anything could somehow still surprise him about this entire muck up, no, _fiasco_ , Louis would be the one to do it.  
  
“Now is really not the time to take the piss, Lou,” he deadpanned, but even that fell short because it came out on the end of the moan he couldn’t hold in any longer.  
  
 _I’m serious, Haz. Niall and Zayn were with me last night. Maybe they remember something._ _  
_  
That had Harry frowning and he turned back to the bed where Louis was lying before he could stop himself.  
  
“What do you remember from last night?” he asked slowly, refusing to look away from his sleeping form, as though his stare would somehow make Louis incapable of lying.  
  
Silence.  
  
He took two deep breaths to keep down the mess of emotions threatening to rise to the surface.  
  
“Lou, what’s the last thing you remember. ...Louis!”  
  
 _Fuck, alright, fuck. Hazza, I don’t-...I remember...I remember dancing with you. I remember you saying you were leaving._

Harry could do nothing to stop his little creature from the quick ‘swell and burst’ stunt it pulled at those words, the slight hesitance he heard behind the confusion.

 _That’s it._ _  
_  
Too many different thoughts were racing through his mind that even he couldn’t keep up. All he could do was look without seeing anything until Harry heard Louis groan in his head.  
  
 _Stop staring at me._ _  
_  
He blinked.  
  
“What?”  
  
 _I don’t want to watch meself fucking sleeping, Haz! Stop staring at me._ _  
_  
His heart did another swell and burst and he shoved off the windowsill with more force than he needed.  
  
“Fine.” Harry strode to the foot of the bed and plopped down so his back was to Louis, shoving Louis’s football cleats out of the way to make room for his feet. Never let it be said he didn’t do anything for Louis. Not looking at Louis was kind of a big deal. “So what do we do now?”  
  
 _I don’t know. You’ve got to tell the lads. They might remember something._ _  
_  
Great. Just bloody great. This was shaping up to be the perfect weekend. Leave it to Louis to not even be able to do a proper night out.  
  
“It’s your job to get them to believe this,” he muttered before Louis could comment on that last thought, digging out his phone and thumbing open the group chat. His fingers hovered over the keypad, then he wrote:  
  
 _Need you all to come to ours. Will tell you once you get here. It’s important._ _  
_  
He pressed send and Louis’s mobile lit up and pinged where it was plugged in on his bedside table, right next to his black-rimmed glasses. Harry silenced his phone and shoved it in his pocket, knowing that nothing he could say before the lads got here would help anyway. Hopefully the radio silence from his end would be enough to get them here faster.

*

“You really can’t feel anything?” Harry asked, staring up at the ceiling of Louis’s bedroom. After sending the text to the lads twenty minutes ago, he’d finally moved to flop down sideways on the bed, resting his head on Louis’ stomach. The position wasn’t anything new for them. Right now it had the comfort of touch, the benefit of lying down, and the normalcy of pretending Louis was really talking to him.  
  
He just had to ignore how unnaturally still Louis was, how if he were awake he’d be picking apart Harry's curls one by one to deliberately fluff them into some ridiculous mess.  
  
Louis didn’t do ‘still’ very well. The only reason his fingers were moving at all right now was because Harry was fiddling with the hand he’d pulled off Louis' stomach to make room for his head.  
  
He also ignored the constant ping of Louis’s phone as the lads sent message after message in the group chat.  
  
 _Nothing. Not a bloody thing. Probably because, oh, I don’t know, I don’t technically have a body right now, Harold._ _  
_  
He couldn’t imagine that, didn’t want to really. Louis was probably more touchy-feely than he was. To not be able to feel... Harry quickly shook the thought off. It was good to know though.  
  
 _Why? Planning on taking advantage of me in me sleep, pumpkin?_ _  
_  
Harry grinned. Louis’s arm rested over Harry's shoulder, bird tattoo right by his neck, but he didn’t look, kept staring at the ceiling, committing to memory the feel of Louis's fingers as he traced each one between his thumb and forefinger. All of Louis was wonderfully warm in the way the body tended to get when it was asleep.  
  
“Thought you could hear my thoughts.”  
  
 _When you actually think them, you tit._ _  
_  
Well then. He absolutely was taking advantage. He’d known for a few years now that Louis made a great pillow after all.  
  
 _Don’t get used to it. I’m too talented to be just a pillow._ _  
_  
“Not good for much else right now though, are you?”  
  
Louis was slender and his stomach was exactly the type of pillow Harry loved, soft at the edges but flat and firm when he sank down into it. He’d fallen asleep here more than once and his back hadn’t protested. If he paid attention he could feel his head rising and falling as Louis breathed too, deep and even.  
  
 _Twat._ _  
_  
“Mm. Good one.” He tried to sound nonchalant but couldn’t help but snicker, even as he gave himself a point. Louis calling him a twat was an automatic point for Harry. “Bet that one took some time to come up with.”  
  
Louis scoffed.  
  
 _No, I’m just bored. Haz, why are we staring at the ceiling of all bloody places?_ _  
_  
Harry's smile turned into more of a smirk.  
  
“Because you told me to stop staring at you.” He deliberately closed his eyes and, instead of lacing his own hands together, slid his fingers into the spaces between Louis’s, letting their joined hands rest on his chest to create the perfect picture of sleepy contentment. Not that Louis could see any of it, of course, but still. “Make up your mind, Lou.”  
  
There was a beat of silence and if Louis were normal right now, Harry could easily picture the roll of his eyes, the arch of his brow that filled the space before he threw back his comment.  
  
 _Alright, fine. I get it. Flick the telly on or something. Just open your fucking eyes._ _  
_  
Harry opened his eyes, staring right back at the ceiling. He didn’t really feel comfortable leaving Louis alone though.  
  
 _What’m I gonna do, go on walkabout?_ _  
_  
Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“Fine.” He stood up and deliberately turned and stared down at Louis long enough for Louis to know he was doing it on purpose before he pushed off the bed. He hesitated, then turned back again and untangled the duvet from Louis’s legs. He drew it up so only Louis's head and shoulders were uncovered. Then he left the room for the living area.  
  
It was only when he’d crossed the threshold into the living room that he realized the ultimate gift that he’d been given. The surge of power rushed through his body and he couldn’t stop the widest grin from plastering itself across his face.  
  
If Louis wanted to watch something, they were going to watch something.  
  
Harry had full control of the telly and he was going to wield that power like the sudden god he felt like.  
  
He nearly started laughing when he found an episode of _Say Yes to the Dress_ and turned his head so Louis could watch him deliberately drop the remote on the arm of the sofa before he plopped down and made himself comfortable. There was a British version of the show filmed in Essex, but this was a rerun of the American version with brides all shopping at Kleinfeld’s in NYC.  
  
Louis let out a string of curses that for a moment blocked out what Randy was saying on the screen.  
  
 _Haz, I will kill you. You can think about your wedding dress when I’m not cut off from my body._ _  
_  
“Shh. This is a good one. They always choose this dress though.”  
  
 _I will shave your head. I will murder you in your sleep. I will haunt your dreams._ _  
_  
Nothing new there he was sure.  
  
 _Oh really? ...Am I already in your dreams then, Curly?_ _  
_  
The front door to their flat opened and he quickly shut off the telly, half-rolling off the sofa to meet the lads.  
  
“I never remember my dreams,” Harry muttered quickly under his breath, knowing Louis would hear him. “So haunt away.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You forget how to use your phone?” Liam was the first to speak as Zayn shut the door behind the three of them. If Liam had been frowning this morning, he was all but scowling now. “If Tommo didn’t want to drag his hungover arse to mine you both could have just said so.”  
  
Niall just clapped Liam on the shoulder, slipped his coat off and tossed it over one of the stools at the island. He made his way further into the kitchen, drawn by the siren call of more food: specifically, food that Harry had cooked at some point.  
  
“Harry’s a nutter on the best of days.” His voice emanated from inside the fridge as he scanned the contents. “You really surprised after how he left yours earlier?”  
  
“Surprised you’re awake, really.” Zayn leaned sideways against the island, elbow on the worktop, ankles crossing, studying Harry. “Seemed like you needed the kip.”  
  
“Seemed to need a fucking therapist too,” Niall added before Harry could respond, emerging from the fridge with a coveted container of left-over lemon chicken that Harry had made two nights ago in his hands. “Where’s the bugger telling tall-tales about my escapades last night? Get your fibbing arse out here, Tommo!”  
  
The silence always seemed that much louder any time they were expecting Louis to talk and he surprisingly didn’t. Harry was sure Niall’s voice was echoing through the house and they could feel the unnatural stillness as much as he could. It usually meant Louis was likely about to pounce. Now they were all looking at Harry expectantly.  
  
“He’s...sleeping.”  
  
“Again?” Niall asked.  
  
Harry shifted under the weight of their combined stares.  
  
“Uh. Still. Hasn’t woken up yet.”  
  
Niall was confused enough to pause, bite of chicken between his fingers stuck halfway to his lips.  
  
“How’d he tell you that cocked-up tale ‘bout me and the lass last night then?”  
  
Harry winced.  
  
“He told me?”  
  
“Why is that a question?” Liam mimicked the uptick at the end of Harry’s words with perfect pitch. Always perfect pitch with Liam.  
  
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, cleared his throat, shifted his weight to his right leg. They really should have thought about how they were going to do this.  
  
 _Better out than in, Curly._ _  
_  
“You’re foostering,” Niall pointed out, too-idly to mean it to be nonchalant. Now he was studying Harry, blue eyes as keen as any searching look Louis would direct at him.  
  
Harry dragged a hand through his hair before he could stop himself.  
  
“Harry.” Zayn stood straight now, brows furrowing, a different silent question in his eyes. “What is it?”  
  
Fuck. Fuck fuck. He opened his mouth to say-  
  
 _Just say it, Haz. I’d really fucking like to have a wank again before the decade ends._ _  
_  
Harry choked on his tongue, but the image of Louis wanking sprung up unbidden and shocked the words right out.  
  
“It’s Lou. He uh... he hasn’t woken up yet because he-“ Harry struggled to find a way to say this and completely failed, “-can’t.”  
  
They stared.  
  
Harry stared back.  
  
Niall blinked.  
  
Harry blinked.  
  
 _Well this is going swimmingly._ _  
_  
“What?” Zayn asked at the same time as Louis spoke.  
  
Harry sighed, closed his eyes and jumped off the proverbial cliff. He tossed a hand behind him in the direction of their bedrooms then let it flop uselessly back to his side.  
  
“Lou can’t wake up.”  
  
“What do you mean ‘he won’t wake up’?” Liam’s voice had dipped into _this isn’t fucking funny territory_. “I know you two have your Olympic-sized game you’ve been playing for the past three years, but this one is massively fucked, Harry.”  
  
“Because it’s not a game. I didn’t say he won’t wake up. I said he can’t wake up.”  
  
“Really not in the mood for your word play either.”  
  
But Liam was already striding past Harry down the hallway towards the bedrooms, the others quickly following. Harry hadn’t closed the door to Louis’s room earlier and Liam just pushed inside, striding through the clothes and over to Louis. He glared down at Louis, arms crossed.  
  
“Alright. We’re here. What do you want?”  
  
Aside from his arm no longer resting on his stomach and now being mostly covered, Louis hadn’t changed position since Harry first found him. He didn’t respond, not even a twitch, didn’t even crack a smile.  
  
Liam leaned down and knocked his shoulder and Harry felt the strangest sense of _deja vu_ watching Liam do the exact same thing he’d done only about an hour ago. Once again Louis didn’t react at all and Harry watched the dawning realization spreading over their faces.  
  
Liam stepped back and whirled on him as Niall took his place hovering over Louis, checking that Louis was actually breathing, just as Harry had done.  
  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Liam grit out, already digging for his phone. “How long has he been like this?! Why the _fuck_ are the paramedics not here?!”  
  
Taken aback by the ferocity in Liam’s voice, Harry actually took a step back.  
  
“You think that wasn’t the _first_ thing I thought to do?”  
  
“Why didn’t you?” Shock coloured Zayn's voice as he looked from Louis to Harry.  
  
Liam just shook his head, fishing his mobile out to call for an ambulance.  
  
Harry darted forward to grab his phone before he could call and Liam threw his arm back to keep it away from Harry, even more shocked.

“The fuck, Harry?”  
  
“Wait. Just wait, alright? Let us explain-“  
  
 _“Now would be a really good time, Lou.”_ _  
_  
“Explain? Explain what exactly?!” Liam threw his arm out towards Louis’ sleeping figure. “That Louis _isn’t waking up_ and instead of ringing emergency services for help you piddled your damn thumbs and texted us? Have you lost your bloody mind?”  
  
“They can’t help him! Just, fuck, Liam, I’m trying to tell you-"  
  
“How long has he been like this?” Niall blurted, still hovering over Louis. He was scanning Louis’s face as though it might clue him in to what was going on. “Jesus Mary ‘n Joseph, has he been like this all fucking night?”  
  
What was Harry thinking? He should have called for an ambulance a long time ago. He shouldn’t need Liam yelling and Niall shocked and Zayn scared to have him do the right thing. This was-  
  
“It’s _Tommo_ , Harry! I thought he was your best mate!”  
  
“He _is_ my best mate!”  
  
“Then _why_ is he not in hospital yet?!”  
  
“Because-"  
  
Liam unlocked his phone to call. Harry lunged for it again and Liam had to stop dialing to keep from dropping it.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Harry! You actually have a fucking reason? You can’t be fucking serious!”  
  
“He’s right, Harry. Louis should have been on the way to hospital a long time ago,” Zayn got in.  
  
“Now would be a really good time to say something, Lou!” Harry finally shouted.  
  
That was enough to stun the other three into silence, a mixture of confusion, incredulity and concern on their faces. They were all looking between Harry and Louis now.  
  
Harry blew out a breath, voice quieter again.  
  
“Give us a chance to explain. And if you still don’t believe us, you can ring for help, alright?”  
  
It was Niall who pushed down on Liam’s phone when the other lad just stared at Harry.  
  
“What’s going on, Harry?”  
  
That spurred Liam again and he rounded on Niall.  
  
“Niall, what-"  
  
“You’re right,” Zayn tore his gaze away from studying Harry too closely, to face Liam. “He is Harry's best mate. Haz couldn’t put a _stranger_ in harm’s way, much less Tommo. You know that.” He turned back to Harry, dark eyes slightly narrowed, too penetrating even if still a little scared. “I want to know why.”  
  
“And he is breathing,” Niall added cautiously, motioning to Louis. “If he’s been like this all night, what’s one more minute?”  
  
Harry flopped down on the end of the bed again, trying to make some sort of motion with his hands, but it was just strange, jerky movements.  
  
“Don’t say anything, alright?” Harry looked up, waited for the three of them to nod and then was back to waving his arm uselessly for the right words. Finally he dropped his hand. “Lou really did tell me about your tumble with that girl last night, Nialler. He _is_ awake, just...not in his body. He’s-" he tapped his temple, “-somehow gotten himself stuck in here.”  
  
If there were music playing right now, the beat would be hovering, about to drop. He almost wanted to laugh at the mess of emotions scattering across their faces as they tried to process what he was saying. Niall looked nothing short of surprised, Liam seemed to have just swallowed a lemon and Harry had no idea where he got it, and Zayn was still studying him as though waiting for more, waiting for the punchline.  
  
 _Jesus, Haz, you’re terrible at this. Just repeat me words, alright?_ _  
_  
“At least _ **I**_ got them to listen, no thanks to you,” Harry muttered out loud before he could stop himself.  
  
 _Well it’s not like I can just cut in with my dulcet tones now can I? They can’t hear me._ _  
_  
“I know they can’t hear your ‘dulcet tones’.” He air-quoted before dropping his hands back to the bed. “You didn’t need to sit back and just watch though.”  
  
 _But you were doing such a splendid job, darling. Should be proud of yourself. Top form._ _  
_  
“Harry, uh-" Zayn started.  
  
“Just tell me what to say, Lou. It’s your turn.” Harry focused back on the other three. “I know you can’t hear him.“  
  
Liam dug his index fingers against his temples and shook his head, but as they’d promised, none of them said anything. Well, Zayn technically just did, but that didn’t count. Niall nodded though, so Harry repeated what Louis told him in his head, looking to each of them in turn.  
  
“He says that’s exactly what happened last night.” He paused, then continued, “How dare you impugn me honour, Nialler. It is my sacred fucking duty to relay exactly how your arse made beautiful beautiful fucking love to that dance floor.”  
  
Louis’s words and tone in Harry’s voice made Harry sound like the alien Louis was so certain he’d been all along.  
  
The lovechild of their voices was the strangest creature. Louis’s voice was so distinctive that only Niall could really mimic it. Harry was well aware of this. And even if by some miracle he did manage to get Louis’s accent right, the rapid-fire pace he spoke with most of the time was a bit too fast even when Harry tried.  
  
So now it just sounded like a terrible recording of Louis that was buffering and slowing down as the machine began to run out of battery.  
  
And made Harry sound like he hadn’t quite mastered the language of this strange new planet he’d crash-landed on.  
  
Even with the situation, Niall was immediately trying not to burst out laughing, pressing his lips so tightly together. Zayn wasn’t much better.  
  
 _You really are shit at this, Haz._ _  
_  
Harry groaned, falling back on the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face. He refused to move his hands, so his words were muffled behind them. So he didn’t have to see the looks on the other lads’ faces, of course.  
  
“Do you really have to get them to believe us by making me look like a fool?”  
  
 _Harold, you need no help at all to look a fool._ _  
_  
“I’m going to draw cocks all over your face.”  
  
 _Zayn will stop you._ _  
_  
Harry snorted.  
  
“Why would Zayn stop me?”  
  
 _Because if he doesn’t I’m going to tell you what he said about Payno when we were having a smoke last night._ _  
_  
Harry peeled his fingers apart, peering curiously up at Zayn through the gap.  
  
“What’d he say about Payno while you were having a smoke last night?”  
  
Zayn’s eyes narrowed then widened almost comically. He crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
“Why were you eavesdropping on us?”  
  
 _And all these conversations are the secrets that I keep..._ _  
_  
An irrepressible shiver rocked up Harry's spine at Louis’ singing echoing through his head with no warning at all. He’d never not be affected by Louis's voice.  
  
And that lyric had _never_ sounded more dangerous.  
  
“He wasn’t,” Liam said warily, looking between Zayn and Harry before settling his gaze on Harry. “Haz was with me at _your_ round table the entire time.” He turned more fully to Zayn. “What did you say about me?”  
  
 _Not important right now, Leeeyum._ _  
_  
“Not important right now, Leeeyum,” Harry sing-songed. Singing. Yes. _That_ he could mimic.  
  
Niall finally couldn’t hold his laughter and Harry took that as his cue to sit up. He sighed, shrugging helplessly.  
  
“I’m not taking the piss. Lou’s really up here.” Harry motioned vaguely at his head. Before they could say anything he pressed his palms together in prayer. “Help me.”  
  
 _Oh so now you want their help._ _  
_  
“Alright. Lightning round.” Niall dragged the chair from over by Louis’s desk and sat in front of Harry, elbows on his knees, gaze flicking back and forth between Harry’s eyes.  
  
“Can he hear us?”  
  
“Yes. If I can hear it he can.”  
  
“See us?”  
  
“Only whatever I’m looking at.”  
  
“Can he make you talk?”  
  
“No, thank god.”  
  
“Can he make you move?”  
  
“Also no.”  
  
“Does he get tired?”  
  
“Does he ever get tired even with a body?”  
  
“Point taken. When did it start?”  
  
“Payno’s, making breakfast.”  
  
“How’d you find out?”  
  
“He started making comments on what I was thinking.”  
  
“So he can hear your thoughts?”  
  
“Anything I think. But nothing that I picture.” Harry’s gaze darted up to Zayn. “Every single thought.”  
  
Zayn pressed his lips together while Niall sat back in the chair and rubbed a hand over his mouth, mentally compiling the information he just got.  
  
“So. You’ve somehow gone and gotten yourself a Yorkshire parasite.”  
  
 _Oi, I’ll give you a bloody parasite, you Irish prick. I will make you regret that statement over and Over Again all tour._ _  
_  
Harry's lips quirked up.  
  
“What? What’s he saying?” Niall asked, still studying Harry too intently to miss it.  
  
“If I’m translating correctly, he’s making thinly-veiled threats against your Irish sainthood during the set of _Over Again_ for the entire tour.”  
  
“Oh that’s a good one. I’d add that to your list of accomplishments, Horan,” Zayn spoke up as Niall started laughing again. “A cursed lad attempting to curse you while stuck inside the head of another cursed lad.”  
  
Harry spluttered.  
  
“I’m not cursed!”  
  
Zayn arched one too-perfect eyebrow at Harry.  
  
“You’ve got _Louis_ stuck inside your head.” The rest of that sentence didn’t go unheard by Harry either, but he was careful not to think it.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but then dropped his hand. He really couldn’t disagree with that logic.  
  
 _Best bloody thing to ever happen to Haz, you wanker._ _  
_  
“You actually believe this?” Liam asked. Harry could tell by the look on his face that he was halfway to believing it himself and having a hard time coming up with the logic behind why he should believe it.  
  
“You don’t? Sure sounds like Tommo to me. And I don’t think Harry would lie about a situation this shit,” Zayn pointed out, motioning at Louis’s body.  
  
“And I’m Irish.” Niall waved his hand around. “Land of all the mystical shite and all that. What else could it fucking be?”  
  
“You’re forgetting the fact that Louis waking up inside Harry’s head isn’t exactly natural,” Liam protested. “You’re all talking like this is some sort of spell or magic or something. That’s mental.”  
  
They were all silent.  
  
Niall frowned, deep in thought, before asking, “You think there was actually someone with magic at the club last night?”  
  
Liam’s jaw dropped.  
  
“People go their entire lives trying to just find a mage, much less actually getting them to use magic on them. And now you’re saying Tommo might’ve just stumbled across one? And then what? Got them to grant him a wish?”  
  
 _You think I_ ** _asked_** _for this?_ _  
_  
“Liam’s right. That’s nearly unheard of,” Zayn said from Liam’s other side.  
  
 _Says the wanker who became part of a famous band at seven-bloody-teen after obviously wowing the judges with his sick dancing skills._ _  
_  
Harry pressed his lips together, hard, to keep from reacting visually to Louis. Zayn was right though, it was unheard of. So unheard of that he and Louis hadn’t even thought of it.  
  
“Just because it’s rare doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Niall said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
No, but the chances of them happening were slim. Harry’s heart had enough experience with that, even if he was also part of said famous band and he’d been 19 for all of two weeks now.  
  
“So a mage who happened to be at the club just took a liking to Lou and did this-" Harry made circles at his head and then somewhere behind him towards Louis, “-just for the fun of it?”  
  
“How should I know?” Niall held his hands out, palms up. “I’m just spitballing ideas here, lads!”  
  
“Even if this is somehow magic, I think we’re forgetting that Louis is still just-" Liam motioned behind Harry at Louis too, “-just lying here. If it were magic wouldn’t he be in some sort of, I don’t know, frozen state or whatever?”  
  
“None of us are exactly well-versed in spell casting, Liam,” Zayn drawled.  
  
“So how long can he stay like this?” Liam pressed, tearing his gaze away from Louis. “How is this not inherently dangerous?”  
  
“None of us are saying it isn’t,” Harry sighed. “But there’s not much we can do about it.”  
  
“We _could_ get him to hospital. They can do a lot more than we can. They can actually monitor him. We’re singers, not doctors.”  
  
“He’s just asleep though.”  
  
“But he’s not ‘just asleep’ now is he? If he were just asleep we’d be able to wake him up.”  
  
Harry shot upright, throwing his hand back behind him towards Louis.  
  
“Well sending him to hospital isn’t going to wake him up either! We don’t know what will happen if we do that! They might not let us see him or bring in the police and ask questions, Liam! Last thing we need is the whole world finding out Lou’s in hospital in some sort of fucking magical coma!”  
  
 _Haz, calm down._ _  
_  
“How am I supposed to calm down about this, Lou!? You’re already halfway gone! I won’t send the rest of you away too!”  
  
Liam’s eyes widened before his face darkened.  
  
“I’m not trying to send him away! He’s my mate too, Harry! I’m being _reasonable_.” He threw his arm out towards Louis’ still form. “Open your eyes! Not waking up isn’t ‘sleeping’, it’s _unconscious_! And you’re so sure that this is _clearly_ magic and not complications from a spiked drink or too much alcohol simply because you think you can hear him in your head!”  
  
Zayn, startled and wide-eyed that Harry and Liam were actually shouting right now, pushed between them to get them to separate before things got out of hand, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything before Niall cut in.  
  
“Haz’s got Tommo all up in him and you think a fucking spiked drink did that?”  
  
It was enough to break the tension again, but Niall's phrasing didn’t help Harry all that much.  
  
His little creature twisted and curled up in knots that didn’t go away when he heard Louis cackling in his head. He sat down heavily back on the end of Louis’s bed.  
  
“Christ, Nialler, you’ve got a way with words don’t you,” Harry muttered, rubbing his palms against his thighs.  
  
 _Boy after me own heart, that one. Oh how he’s grown._ _  
_  
For some reason hearing Louis this time made him shrink further into himself, shoulders hunching as he did the only thing he could to cover the bright flush staining his cheeks. He ducked down and rested his face on his palms, dragging in a deep breath.  
  
“You alright?” Zayn asked quietly, easing down next to him, hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Should I be?” He may as well go for snark. He knew Zayn would understand everything he wasn’t saying.  
  
And Zayn did, because after a moment of studying Harry silently with a frown tugging at his lips, he shrugged, agreeing quietly.  
  
“No, probably not.”  
  
It helped to ease some of the tension in his muscles and Harry slumped sideways so his head could rest on Zayn’s shoulder.  
  
“I have to be careful of everything I even _think_ , I have absolutely no privacy at all even with my own thoughts-" he looked up at Liam then, not caring that his voice went softer, “-and yea, my best mate isn’t waking up and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing at all.”  
  
Liam deflated too and he lightly backhanded Niall’s bicep until the other lad shifted enough to share half the chair with him. He sat down, facing Harry.  
  
“I’m not saying I don’t trust you or that you don’t care or even that you’re lying, Haz. I’m just-...” he finally just waved his hand, gave up on trying to explain and simply said, “It’s Louis.”  
  
“I know.” Harry didn’t reach out, too comfortable on Zayn’s shoulder to move, but Niall took care of that for him, squeezing Liam’s shoulder. He just locked gazes with Liam. Because he did know. He really did. “Believe me. I know.”  
  
“Look, lads. We’ll keep an eye on him.” Zayn nodded over Harry’s head towards Louis, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s bicep. “And if anything goes south, Liam, you’ll ring emergency services, alright?”  
  
It seemed as good a compromise as any.  
  
“Well if we’re going to figure this out, we better do it soon,” Niall reminded them, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees again and nodding straight ahead at Louis. “Come Monday we’ll have just about everyone on our backs and we’ve got the Brits on Tuesday. No way we’ll be able to keep this quiet then. They’ll take him away no matter what we all think or believe.” He glanced at Liam. “If you’re having a hard time believing Haz, there’s no chance we’ll convince management. Or Tommo’s family.”  
  
 _You_ ** _cannot_** _tell me family about this._ _  
_  
Harry rubbed at his temple, shaking his head.  
  
 _”We won’t if we can help it.”_ _  
  
You can help it, Haz. You can’t tell. You can’t scare me mum or sisters with this.  
  
”I don’t want to tell them either, but if we can’t figure this out-"  
  
You’re going to figure this out. Promise me, Harry. Fucking promise me you won’t bring me family into this.  
  
”No.”  
  
What do you mean ‘no’.  
  
”I mean I’m not going to promise if it means lying to your mum about you!”_  
  
“Harry!” He jerked, startled, at Niall’s raised voice.  
  
“You know, if I didn’t already believe you before, I’m beginning to now,” Zayn mused, cutting off whatever Niall was about to say. Harry lifted his head from Zayn’s shoulder so he could look at him proper, the question clear on his face.  
  
“You’ve got this...mm...how can I put it.” Zayn waved his hand in a slow circle until he could pluck the words out of the air. That never worked for anyone else, but always seemed to work for Zayn. “-Look on your face right now that you only ever get when Louis is halfway to riling you up.”  
  
“What look?”  
  
“Bloody hell, you’re right,” Liam was looking at Harry now in a new light. That didn’t exactly help Harry though.  
  
“ _What_ look?”  
  
Zayn paused a moment, studying Harry like he was trying to decide if he wanted to take the time and describe what he meant. Like it was some long-winded explanation or something which was ridiculous.  
  
“Like you accidentally swallowed one of Niall’s guitar picks and it’s stuck in your throat now but you don’t want anyone to know because then we’d know you decided to swallow a guitar pick of all things so you sort of clench up-" Zayn motioned at his throat and lips-  
  
“-and pretend it’s not there and like it’s absolutely not bothering you to have a pick lodged in your vocal chords but you’re afraid to actually say something because then everyone would hear exactly how stuck that pick really is and it’d only get worse from there,” Liam finished, still watching Harry as though this of all things was making him believe. “ _That_ look.”  
  
Niall actually rolled right off the chair he was laughing so hard and Louis was laughing so loudly in his head that Harry _almost_ didn’t hear Zayn when he leaned in and whispered, “But don’t worry, you should see the look Tommo gets when you’re getting to him.”  
  
“I see you’ve talked about this before,” Harry muttered, wanting very much to cross his arms over his chest.  
  
Liam and Zayn shared a glance before Liam said with a shrug, “It’s kind of hard to not notice. Why wouldn’t we talk about it?”  
  
How many times today was Harry going to fall backwards on the bed melodramatically?  
  
At least one more time apparently.  
  
With a well-placed, perfectly-timed groan for good measure too.  
  
“None of this was in my contract. I want it known that I didn’t agree to any of this.”  
  
 _Course it was, right under ‘And I, Harry Curly Styles, agree to sit and take it’._ _  
_  
Harry dropped his hands from his face and let them flop onto the bed, eyes narrowing as a faint smile played about his lips.  
  
 _”Too bad you can’t give it then, huh.”_ _  
_  
 _Not what the lads just said now is it?_ _  
  
”Seems to me you need their help. Can’t cut it on your-"  
_  
Zayn nudged his arm, leaning over him so he could see into Harry’s face.  
  
“And that’s the look you get when you’re both having a squabble over messages over something daft, like what’s the best flavor of squash.”  
  
 _Blood Orange._ _  
_  
Harry frowned.  
  
 _”Apple.”_ _  
_  
 _Did you really just try and pass off_ ** _apple_** _as proper squash?_ _  
  
”It is **absolutely** proper squash! You don’t even like the pulpy bits!”  
  
You have no idea what bits I like.  
_  
“Hey.” Zayn flicked a finger at Harry’s forehead. “That wasn’t an invitation to start one now, you two.”  
  
Harry gave Zayn his best pout, complete with finally crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“Why don’t you go flick Louis. He started it.”  
  
Yea, he went there.  
  
 _I can’t feel it anyway and besides, Zayn likes me more. He’s too noble to flick a poor, defenseless, innocent-_ _  
_  
Harry let out a weird noise somewhere between a snort and a groan that sounded mildly like a seal bark before Zayn could respond. Weird enough that it had the other three laughing, even if they had no clue what Louis had said to cause it. They just knew Louis caused it. Louis always caused Harry to make weird noises.  
  
 _What? Don’t believe our dear Z is noble? Just wait till I tell him how you really feel._ _  
_  
“What I _believe_ is that if you’re poor, defenseless, and innocent, then my arse must be bigger than yours too.”  
  
Niall was laughing again. Or maybe he was still laughing. Harry couldn’t be sure. It was an odd day if Niall wasn’t laughing, really.  
  
“Honestly, as far as those three descriptions go, he is right about one at least,” Liam declared, looking once again at Louis before finishing with a shrug, “reckon he is rather defenseless right now.”  
  
 _Oi, I’ll show you how defenseless I am, you tit._ _  
_  
It was a good sign that Liam was comfortable enough to join in on the piss-taking.  
  
Harry arched his back and neck so he could see Louis’ sleeping face behind him without actually getting up before he sighed.  
  
“Not sure how defenseless he is if now there’s absolutely no way to shut him up.” He gave the other three his best puppy-dog face. “We’re all doomed.”  
  
He did his best to ignore the deliberately-maniacal laughter echoing through his head, but he’d never really been able to successfully ignore Louis before. That wasn’t going to happen now.  
  
Zayn clapped a hand to his shoulder.  
  
“Speak for yourself, mate. For us, he’s proper quiet for once.”  
  
Harry was so doomed.


	4. Chapter 4

“So what does he remember?” Niall asked around a mouthful of pizza. Between Niall’s endless pit of a stomach and the simple need to replenish everything they’d lost from alcohol last night, the five of them had decided to order in some pizza while they figured out what to do next.  
  
Well, four of them. Louis was very much against it. For obvious reasons.  
  
 _You are not going to eat pizza in front of me._ _  
_  
Louis thought they were obvious reasons. Harry thought otherwise.  
  
“We’re absolutely going to eat pizza in front of you.”  
  
Louis had proceeded to threaten Harry’s life, his hair, his dick, and his pride before repeating the cycle again, but that wasn’t going to stop Liam from ordering four large pizzas.  
  
Now, 25 minutes later, pizzas in hand, Louis still hadn’t quite stopped grumbling. It had become a bit like having a telly on in the background with a show interesting enough to Harry that he was always half-listening.  
  
“Fine.” Harry suddenly set his slice down and wiped his hands together to dust off the crumbs. It had nothing to do with the question Niall had just asked, earning him confused looks from the other three.  
  
He got up and set his plate on Louis’ stomach, crossing his arms over his chest and staring him down while the other three watched on. They’d gotten a wee bit more used to Harry suddenly speaking out of nowhere, but it didn’t lessen the curiousity over what conversation they’d been having.  
  
“There you go. Now you have some. Eat up.”  
  
 _Well if I could eat it I wouldn’t be mouthing off at you lot for getting some, now would I?_ _  
_  
“Ah. Still whinging that he can’t have any?” Zayn guessed, in the middle of pulling his first slices out of a box. And in the middle of Louis's comment.  
  
Harry still hadn’t quite figured out when he should repeat what Louis was saying. Because the others couldn’t hear him, the conversation tended to move on before Harry even had a chance, sometimes before Louis even finished speaking, like now.  
  
In the end he left it up to Louis. He heard everything Louis said, even if he didn’t respond, but unless Louis insisted it needed to be said, he tried not to but in.  
  
“Well, if anything’s going to wake him up,” Niall took another large bite, speaking around the mouthful, “you’d think it’d be the sweet sweet aroma and taste of pizza.”  
  
“You’re right.” Harry grinned and lifted a slice from his plate and zoomed it around a bit like getting a toddler to eat before pressing the tip against Louis’s lips. “Here’s your true love’s kiss, Sleeping Beauty. Now wake up.” It came out as a joke, but it was anything but a joking request, if the desperation in his heart said anything about it.  
  
 _You mentally-stunted tit. You think I won’t-_ _  
_  
Niall actually choked on the bite he was in the middle of taking, causing Liam to thump him on the back until it turned into just laughter. Zayn’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, eyes shining with amusement.  
  
“Guess it’s not his one true love.” Liam was trying and failing to keep his smile down as he watched. “You’ve been lying to us this whole time, Tommo.”  
  
Harry dropped the slice back on the plate.  
  
“Why didn’t we think of it before?” It took Harry only a few minutes to leave and return, a box of Coco Pops in hand. He sat down next to Louis this time, plucked out a single piece and held it in front of Louis’ sleeping face. Not that Louis could see it better from there, but still. Habit.  
  
“Peace offering you said, right? Open your eyes and you can eat these little sugar pills whenever you want.”  
  
 _I already eat them whenever I want._ _  
_  
Harry scrunched his nose up and tossed the morsel at Louis, hitting him in the cheek with it. He pulled out a few more, emphasizing his words by tossing another one at Louis’s face each time. He didn’t even have to slow his speech down to match the tempo of his throws.  
  
“Can’t. Exactly. Eat. Them. Right. Now. Can. You.”  
  
Louis didn’t even flinch. Now he just had Coco Pops all over his pillow. Harry huffed and turned his back to Louis’s body but stayed sitting next to him, finally taking a bite of pizza.  
  
“Quite certain food has always been _your_ true love,” Zayn said to Niall, shrugging, “not Tommo’s.”  
  
“Brilliant deduction, mate. True too. But seeing as I’m not the one who got fucking stuck astro-traveling in my sleep, we’ll just have to remember that for the future, the future where I’m also never getting meself in this bloody botch,” Niall quipped with a grin, already pulling out another two slices from a box. “So, as I was saying, what does Tommo remember from last night?”  
  
 _I’m right here, you know._ _  
_  
Remembering that Louis was still there wasn’t easy. Subconsciously even Harry forgot with one glance at Louis asleep on the bed and _he_ had Louis in his head. He tried to convey what Louis said to the other lads and actually make it useful though.  
  
“Pretend I’m on the phone with him,” he tried, before quickly adding, “and that the speaker option is broken.” Because Louis with his penchant for poking holes in Harry’s words would latch on to that.  
  
Liam chewed over the idea as slowly as he chewed the bite in his mouth, nodding once he’d swallowed.  
  
“Alright.” He looked straight at Harry. “Tommo, did you take any drinks from strangers last night?”  
  
That just made Liam look seven levels of deranged. Harry was careful not to say that out loud though, even if he couldn’t stop Louis from hearing the thought.  
  
 _Finally seeing it too, eh?_ _  
_  
“Lou.”  
  
 _Fine, fine. You know the answer to that anyway. Might as well tell them._ _  
_  
So Harry did.  
  
“He doesn’t remember anything after I told him we were leaving.”  
  
“That’s it? That’s all he remembers?” Niall was incredulous enough to actually stop eating, sharing a look with Zayn.  
  
Harry nodded. He had no idea why Niall was so incredulous though. Besides the obvious, at least, but still. That reaction seemed out of proportion to the information he’d just received.  
  
“Part of why we had to tell you. He thinks maybe you and Zayn might remember something he can’t. Did anyone recognize you?”  
  
Zayn finished the last of his crust and sat back against the wall beneath the window, thumbing at some crumbs at the corner of his mouth as he thought about it. When he spoke, his words were careful.  
  
“Not that I know of. We weren’t there that much longer, really. After you left, Tommo left the dance floor, said he was done dancing, something about having a wee and that he was going to get us another round and meet us at the table.”  
  
“Because he knew that without you lazy buggers guarding it, someone might snatch the table from him,” Niall added, jerking a thumb at Zayn, who rolled his eyes and tossed the nearest thing to him at Niall, which happened to be one of Louis’s dirty socks. Harry was surprised Zayn found one of those, actually. He’d thought Louis had forgotten what socks were months ago.  
  
 _Must be the one sock I forgot to shove up your arse with the rest of them._ _  
_  
Fuck. He forgot Louis could hear his thoughts.  
  
 _Every single fucking word. But please, keep going._ _  
_  
Harry smirked.  
  
“Right because that look on his face was obviously the look of ‘must save the round table’,” Zayn said with a pointed glance at Niall.  
  
“What look?” Harry asked curiously, to which Zayn just shook his head and waved off the question.  
  
“So the only time we didn’t see him was the toilets and when he was at the bar getting a round.” Zayn shifted so he had one leg straight out in front of him, forearm resting on the knee of his bent leg, fingers tapping out some beat against the air.  
  
Or maybe his fingers were wishing for a pencil. He was staring at the ceiling as though it were replaying the end of last night for him. It probably was. If anyone had a bit of a photographic memory, Harry didn’t doubt it was their resident artist.  
  
“So if anything happened, it happened then. But he was fine when he got back to us. Well, Tommo-fine.” Zayn frowned, brows drawing inward.  
  
“Christ in a fucking communion crisp. You’re something else, Tommo.” Niall shook of his head. “Only you would find a way to get yourself bloody cursed in the toilets. What’d you do, piss off a mage? Or should I say, piss _on_?”  
  
 _How about we get back to the task at hand, you sorry excuses for mates._ _  
_  
Liam choked on a laugh, looked at Niall.  
  
“Think that only works for Harry.”  
  
It was enough to set Niall off again with more laughter.  
  
“You know, I do have to hand it to you, Haz,” he said once he got himself back under control. “You actually wee’ed on Tommo three years ago and he’s been under your spell ever since. That’s impressive if you ask me, mate. You sure you’re not the mage we’re looking for here?”  
  
 _You think he has some sort of spell-casting wee, Nialler? It’s the dimples, mate. Beware the dimples or he’ll snag you too._ _  
_  
Harry grinned before he could stop himself.  
  
 _”Not the wand?”_ _  
_  
 _One: you really think you can enchant me with a wilted wand all out of magic juice? And B) you get no points for that piss-poor joke, Haz._ _  
_  
 _”What? Why not?”_ _  
_  
 _Unoriginality, you know that. And you’re about to lose points for arguing against the rules._ _  
_  
Harry pouted, just a bit.  
  
“Haz?”  
  
He blinked, looked up at Niall and cleared his throat.  
  
“Lou says to beware my dimples, not my wee.”  
  
Niall grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.  
  
“Does he now? I’ll have to remember that. Thanks, Tommo.”  
  
“You know,” Zayn said casually, watching Harry with an unreadable expression that Harry was sure meant he’d noticed the flush that crept over his cheeks, “much as I wouldn’t be surprised if Louis managed something in the toilets considering his obvious past history with toilets, for what it’s worth, he was-" he nodded at Harry again, switching gears, “-you did seem like you’d had a bit more to drink by the time you made it back to us, Tommo.”  
  
 _And you didn’t think that was important enough to say before, you wanker?!_ _  
_  
Harry relayed the question with a little less incredulous sputtering and without the wanker. Zayn shrugged, looking away from Harry and opting to share another look with Liam instead.  
  
“You looked to be having the time of your bloody life. Didn’t honestly think much of it. Figured whatever happened at the bar was good. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t mean anything.”  
  
 _Well this hasn’t been normal circumstances since ten o’clock this bloody morning!_ _  
_  
“One.”  
  
 _What?_ _  
_  
“One. You woke up in my head around one, not ten.”  
  
 _Harold, that is not the point here._ _  
_  
Harry shrugged, finishing off the last bite of his pizza before focusing on Zayn again.  
  
Zayn had noticed the football within arm’s reach just to his right and he leaned forward now, pushing at the piles of clothes on Louis’s floor with purpose, like he was constructing something.  
  
 _Stop mucking up my organization, you wanker._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled, relayed that to Zayn, without the ‘wanker’ and then asked, “So he went to grab rounds and came back noticeably more pissed than before?”  
  
 _He is a fucking wanker. You forgot that bit again._ _  
_  
”Oops.”  
  
 _Harold, he needs to know he’s a wanker._ _  
_  
Zayn just smirked and kept going, using the clothes to clear a bowling lane on Louis’s floor from him to Harry. He grabbed the football and sat back down, lined it up, squinted, then pushed it down the lane he’d made until he scored a goal in the space between Harry’s feet, then said, “So if Tommo _was_ cursed, it probably happened at the bar.”  
  
For a few moments none of them said anything, but finally Harry spoke up, attempting to nudge-kick the ball back to Zayn and not hit any of the clothes either. He was mostly successful.  
  
“So what do we do now?”  
  
Liam set his plate, complete with five uneaten crusts, on the floor next to him.  
  
“Well, sounds to me like if we’re going to find out anything about whether this really was a curse or not, we’ll need to go back to that bar.”  
  
Niall blew out a breath, shook his head and reached for another slice.  
  
“Suppose that’s as good a fucking place to start as any now isn’t it.”

  
  
  
  
  
*  
  


“I’ll be back by seven, half seven tops.” Zayn reached for his coat as he and Harry stood by the front door.  
  
They’d decided that if they were going back to the club, they couldn’t all go. Someone needed to stay behind with Louis, preferably more than one of them just in case. So he and Zayn were going to head back (after all, he did have Louis in his head and being back might spark a memory for Louis), while Liam and Niall stayed behind to keep watch in case Louis did...who knew what.  
  
Something, knowing him.  
  
And they were less likely to be noticed and recognized and cause a stir with only two of them there, rather than four, which would only draw attention to Louis’s absence if they were all there together.  
  
At the moment, Niall and Liam were still in the room with Louis, well, the quiet half of Louis, and Harry was on his way to grab his guitar from the music room for Niall, pausing to talk to Zayn before he left.  
  
If they were going back to the club, Zayn insisted that they didn’t need to _ask_ to be noticed and recognized because they showed up in hoodies and trackies.  
  
Harry couldn’t disagree with that logic. Besides, it’s not like they would have better luck showing up at 6PM before the club was really open anyway. So Zayn was stopping home to change his kit and grab clothes for the next couple of days.  
  
Harry appreciated that. He hadn’t asked, but the lads all just assumed they’d be staying until Louis was back to normal. Niall and Liam would stop at theirs sometime later.  
  
 _Not if he’s fixing his hair for the big event he won’t. I’d add at least another hour there._ _  
_  
 _”Because you take any less time on yours.”_ _  
_  
 _Well some of us weren’t just born with it, Curly._ _  
_  
Harry’s lips quirked up in a faint smile and he shook his head before he could stop himself.  
  
Zayn, noticing the movement, paused with his coat halfway on.  
  
“What? No, never mind,” he added before Harry could say anything. “Let me guess, Tommo’s got a running commentary going on, doesn’t he.”  
  
Harry flicked out his index finger in a _ding ding ding._  
  
“He says your hair looks great so no need to style it before we go.”  
  
Zayn rolled his eyes and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat, shrugging it up his shoulders.  
  
“I’m sure that’s exactly how he phrased it too.”  
  
He tucked his phone in his left pocket and patted the right before plunging a hand inside, pulling out his pack of smokes to check how many he had before plucking off the slip of paper that came out with it.  
  
“Oh right. Forgot about this.” He handed the paper to Harry. “Found a word last week. Well, Perr did really, but thought you’d want it.”  
  
Harry glanced down at the word. Zayn had written it neatly enough that he must’ve been double-checking the spelling as he wrote it.  
  
 _Lascivious_.  
  
“Laviscious?”  
  
Zayn smirked, nodded towards the paper.  
  
“Did the same thing when I read it until Perr corrected me. It’s actually lascivious. Reckon it’s one of those words everyone says wrong without thinking.” His smile was a little bit wider when Harry visibly perked up at that. “Look it up. I’m sure that mind of yours will find the swap interesting.”  
  
“Cheers.” Harry recognized the word, in the sense that it didn’t sound completely unfamiliar, but the niggle at the back of his mind wasn’t enough to clue him in to what it meant.  
  
“Course.” Zayn slid his hand back into his pocket and checked his phone to see if the ride Paul had sent over was here yet, before he went back to looking at Harry.  
  
He was studying Harry quietly enough that Harry knew he wanted to say something but was working out how to say it.  
  
“You gonna be alright?” Zayn finally asked, voice dropping lower.  
  
That instinctual half-dip towards a whisper had Harry freezing for just a moment. They were alone physically, but until this was all sorted, Harry would never really be alone. And not ‘not alone’ with just anyone, but ‘not alone’ with Louis. He knew Zayn was asking about that, about whether he’d be able to hold on until they could get Louis back into his own body.  
  
Among other things that he shied away from mentally verbalizing.  
  
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Harry tried for a smile, but it was forced. He was too busy being too careful with what he was thinking, too careful to not fill in with his inner voice the spaces of what Zayn wasn’t saying. “This’ll either end alright, or really really terribly.”  
  
They were both being deliberately vague. The only reason Louis was so quiet right now was because he could sense it, because Louis was listening intently and didn’t want to remind Harry he was there.  
  
The silence that greeted that thought told Harry he was exactly right.  
  
“Do you know which one is which?” Zayn asked, once again after carefully deciding how to say it.  
  
It was another moment before Harry shook his head, pushed a hand through his curls before crossing his arms over his chest, gripping onto his biceps a little too tightly.  
  
“Can’t say I do.”  
  
He didn’t look away while Zayn continued to study him, picking up on visual cues on Harry’s face. Harry wasn’t sure what he saw, but finally Zayn nodded, reaching out to squeeze his arm.  
  
“Whatever happens is meant to happen. It’ll work out.”  
  
Harry chuckled quietly.  
  
“I hope you’re right.”  
  
Zayn’s phone pinged in his pocket and he pulled it out just enough to glance at the message before opening the door.  
  
“Half seven tops.” He paused, looked at Harry a moment before saying, “Go easy on him, Tommo.”  
  
After he left, Harry headed towards the music room to pick up his guitar for Niall, mentally counting down. 5, 4, 3, 2-  
  
 _What was he on about?_ _  
_  
-1.  
  
Harry picked up his guitar from its stand, which was sat close to the piano. He didn’t play the piano nearly as much as Louis did. Harry fiddled with notes when working on a melody here and there where Louis could actually play, but all he could think right now was that he didn’t know when he’d hear Louis play again.  
  
The image of Louis sitting at the piano, slender fingers gliding over the keys, eyes down as he concentrated, filled Harry's brain and made his heart hurt. It was sobering. He loved watching Louis play.  
  
Harry left the memory in the room by leaving the room.  
  
“Nothing. He knows you’re a little shit and he’s worried about my sanity with you stuck in there,” Harry said as he stopped in his own room to grab his leather journal from the desk.  
  
 _ **Your**_ _sanity? I’m cut off from my body and he’s worried about_ ** _your_** _sanity?_ _  
_  
“Exactly. See? Even you get it. Reckon he does like me better.”  
  
 _Wankers. You’re both wankers. And that doesn’t-_ _  
_  
“I can’t even imagine it,” Liam admitted quietly.  
  
Harry paused in the doorway to Louis’s room.  
  
“Don’t think any of us can, Payno,” Niall returned, shrugging. “I’m sure he’s been through worse. Or, well, could be worse, I reckon.”  
  
Something about their quiet voices reminded Harry of the way he and Zayn had just been talking and just like before, it made him freeze.  
  
“Really. What’s worse than being cursed, if that’s really what this is?”  
  
“Alright, maybe not much fucking worse, but-" Niall shifted, rustling the duvet.  
  
They were both sitting on the side of the bed closest to Louis, but near the bottom so they had room to sit without sitting on him. It put their backs to the door, Liam leaning over with his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands over his hair while Niall was leaning back on the heels of his hands.  
  
“-reckon we don’t have to worry about him sleepwalking, yea? He may not be right, but he’s not going anywhere.”  
  
Louis didn’t sleepwalk often, but if Harry and Niall were the sleeptalkers, Louis was definitely their resident sleepwalker. Zayn had caught him doing it two times on the bus during their last tour, right in the middle of a particularly packed stretch of shows and traveling.  
  
Harry usually didn’t wake up, so if Louis did sleepwalk much here at the flat, Harry didn’t know. He had woken up to find Louis asleep on the sofa a few times though, and one time at the dining table too.  
  
His favourite was the time he’d woken up one morning sometime last October to find Louis asleep next to him in Harry's bed. He would have let Louis get away with it without any teasing, but the moment Louis woke up and tried to kick him out of his _own_ bed and, when Harry burst out laughing, had then sat up with his hair sticking every which way looking around in utter confusion like a disgruntled hedgehog, like he’d never been in a bedroom before because he didn’t know what one looked like under heaps of clothing and footballs and dirty dishes covering every surface, well, Harry had no choice but to tease him. How could he?  
  
It almost looked normal right now, watching Liam and Niall talking, except for Louis’ sleeping figure just by them. Well, even that wasn’t exactly unusual, now that Harry thought about it. They all had their fair share of sleeping in the dressing rooms before shows with the others there or on the tour bus. It was just rarer for Louis than the rest of them.  
  
“We think. We don’t actually know how any of this works.”  
  
“Haz and Zayn will find something at the club. Tommo’s gonna remember something. And we’ve got the highly-enviable job of watching him do absolutely nothing.” Niall poked a finger into Liam’s back, wiggling his eyebrows when it made Liam jerk and look at him. “You’ve gotta admit, no one’ll ever bloody believe that.”  
  
Liam laughed at that, shaking his head.  
  
“Because we’re absolutely going to tell everyone about this.”  
  
None of them had any intentions of telling anyone about this.  
  
“It’ll be far more fun to hold it over Tommo’s head anyway. Great fodder for the future.” Niall punctuated that statement with a single, sure nod.  
  
“If Harry’s still sane by the end of it. Not sure who has it worse, him or Louis.” Liam must’ve said something else with his expression, because the words had Niall studying him silently for a moment.  
  
“You don’t think it’s chance that he ended up in Haz's head?”  
  
Liam must’ve said something else with his face once again, but Harry still couldn’t see it because they were still mostly turned away.  
  
“Not the least. Given the choice I think he’d always go to Haz first.”  
  
“They’re best mates. Course he would.” Niall shrugged again like that was the easiest assessment in the world. “Except he doesn’t actually fucking remember anything past you and Haz leaving last night. So how could he choose this?”  
  
“You tell me. You’re the leprechaun.” Liam sat upright only to flex his shoulders by gripping at the edge of Louis’s bed on either side of his thighs. From the back, it wasn’t hard for Harry to see the tense set of worry in his muscles. This whole mess must be doing a number on Liam's spidey-senses. “Land of your mystical shit and all. Does magic stay only skin deep?”  
  
A strange mix of emotions passed over Niall’s face, one after another, too quickly for Harry to try and figure them out, especially because he could only see part of his right cheek as he was looking at Liam. But finally he tipped his head to the side, contemplating.  
  
“S’pose not. Not like Tommo chose this whole botch either, yea? But if anyone’s going to be able to take care of his...I don’t know, soul or whatever the fuck this is until we figure it out, it’s Haz. Tommo must know that on some level.”  
  
Niall glanced down at the tight grip Liam had on Louis’s bed and bumped his shoulder against Liam’s. When he had Liam’s eyes on him, Niall held up his index fingers on either side of his own head, wiggling them.  
  
“Or maybe he was just drawn to Harry’s antenna.”  
  
Liam chuckled and glanced past Niall to Louis.  
  
“Antenna or not though, Harry didn’t have a say in this at all. He may not be the one having an out of body experience, but...”  
  
Niall followed Liam’s gaze, looked at Louis too. His left hand landed somewhere on Louis’s duvet-covered leg where he gave it a pat.  
  
“They’ll be fine. Tommo knows Haz will do anything to keep him safe and he won’t do anything to hurt Haz. Gotta be why Tommo hasn’t fucking lost it over all this yet and taken Haz down with him.”  
  
Liam cocked an eyebrow at Niall.  
  
“Starting to believe it now too, huh.”  
  
 _You know, eavesdropping isn’t really your style, Haz._ _  
_  
Harry almost gave himself away when he jerked, startled by Louis’s voice. Louis had been so quiet that he’d forgotten he was there for a few moments.  
  
Probably because he was eavesdropping too, hypocritical tit.  
  
 _”Or maybe I’m so good at it you’ve just never noticed.”_ Harry made sure to keep that internal though. No need to rat himself out for eavesdropping just because he couldn’t resist firing back.  
  
“Here, Nialler,” he said out loud instead, choosing that moment to step into the room. He handed his acoustic to Niall when they both turned to face him.  
  
Niall’s face instantly transformed back to it’s usual twenty shades of laughter and light.  
  
“You’re a god amongst men, Haz. How’s Tommo treating you in there? Still got your wits about you, I hope?”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He meant it, even if it came out sounding a bit sarcastic. “Happy to know you think I’m sane. Hear that, Lou?”  
  
Louis scoffed. Harry still wasn’t quite used to hearing mouth sounds from his disembodied voice.  
  
 _Mental calling mental not mental doesn’t actually make any of you not mental. But I’m doing fine myself, thanks for asking, Nialler._ _  
_  
Harry relayed what he’d just said, word for word, to the other two, feeling oddly victorious.  
  
“Now who sounds crazy, Tommo? And we know you’re fine. You’ve never been anything but.” Niall grinned.  
  
Something about his words, no matter how lightly Niall said them, shifted something in Harry’s chest, made him pause.  
  
But Niall was already happily plucking away at the guitar, tweaking the tuning without actually paying attention to it. Harry immediately recognized the first chords of _Little Things_ , one of the few songs on tour that Niall would be playing guitar for on stage.  
  
There were many little things he was absolutely not going to think about right now though.  
  
Danielle called only a minute later and when Liam left the room to talk to her, Harry took his place, sitting down next to Niall and just watching him play.  
  
It was simple, it was normal, it was comforting. Of all the chaos they were dealing with, just watching Niall, listening to the mix of notes and chords to _Little Things_ did wonders to clear Harry's head.  
  
Or maybe it was because Niall apparently had the same effect on Louis and for the moment he was quiet too.  
  
Not hearing a second voice in your head could certainly do wonders to clear it.  
  
Niall was a strange creature when he had a guitar in his hands. Talented fingers plucked at the strings as he either stared down or stared ahead at nothing, drawing him into almost like a musical trance where he was so comfortable, so content, that Harry couldn’t help but feel calm himself. Even Niall's words, whenever they got him to pay attention enough to speak, seemed to take on the air of wisdom, like because he wasn’t thinking about his words he could only speak the truth or something. It was amusing, sometimes, but always utterly fascinating to watch at the same time, the way Niall was so grounded and grounding in return.  
  
Louis did it sometimes at the piano, but not nearly as often, and certainly not in front of thousands of fans who could surely back Harry up on the experience. Harry was certain that it was only Niall’s incredible stage presence and entertainer instinct that kept him from completely forgetting that they were putting on a show when he had a guitar in his hands on stage.  
  
Niall was talented too.  
  
“Nothing fazes you, does it.”  
  
Niall half-grinned, the only sign that he’d heard Harry, still staring towards the windows. His fingers didn’t falter in the slightest.  
  
“Guess me buttons just haven’t been pushed yet.”  
  
“You have those?” Harry asked, feigning shock, pretending to look all over him. “Where?”  
  
Niall’s gaze slid from the windows to the guitar, watching his fingers glide over the frets. He nodded at them, as though to tell Harry to look at them too, that all the answers were written in the strings. Or that his buttons were on the guitar maybe. Honestly, crazy as both ideas sounded, Harry wouldn’t put either one past Niall.  
  
“Everyone’s got them, mate. I’m no different.”  
  
Harry sat back on the heels of his hands, tipped his head to the side.  
  
“And they haven’t been pushed? Even though Lou’s apparently been cursed?”  
  
Niall paused a moment, palm pressing over the strings to silence them, looking up at Harry.  
  
“Maybe he’s lucky. I mean-" he pointed at his own eyes with two fingers and then at Harry’s before saying, “maybe you’re lucky, Tommo.”  
  
He shrugged, looked back down to the strings again, plucking into the A minor chord of the bridge. When he started to speak, Harry half expected him to start singing his part, quiet and smooth and intimate, the way he always sang it in rehearsals.  
  
Instead, over the gentle progression of the chords, Niall said, “It’s like... like having a bird shite on you out on the street, yea? Like, what are the fucking chances of that, right? Some people say that’s a sign of some really fucking good luck. Maybe it is. I like to think it is. But you still just got bloody shat on by a bird and you have still got to clean it up.”  
  
 _Did...did you just compare all this to bird shit, Nialler?_ _  
_  
The combination of Niall talking about bird shit over top of the backing melody for Little Things, coupled with the look that Harry could so easily picture would have been on Louis’s face if he were sitting there — disbelieving and appalled and somehow still halfway to laughing— had Harry nearly swallowing his tongue in the colossal effort it took to choke down his laughter before the slightest peep of it could escape.  
  
He did manage to somewhat calmly tell Niall what Louis had said though.  
  
Niall didn’t stop playing, even now, but he was back to smiling, that tiny one he made when he was fighting not to laugh. He lost the battle, of course, but it only turned into a toothy grin this time.  
  
“Sure did, Tommo. You blow the problem up too much and you’ll only make the answer seem that much more impossible. But if it’s just bird shite stuck in your hair, well-” he shrugged, “just clean it up.”  
  
 _You forget about the part where this is magical bird shit?_ _  
_  
Niall shook his head when Harry told him, smile not dropping in the slightest as he came to the final chorus of the song.  
  
“Then we find the magical soap. We just gotta remember where it is, that’s all. And until then, make sure you and Haz don’t go screaming bloody murder down the street. Figuratively for you, o’course.” He jerked his head to the left towards Louis. “You’re being a bit lazy at the moment, mate.”  
  
“How are you so calm about this?” Harry murmured with a shake of his head. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Technically Niall had just finished answering that question with bird shit of all things.  
  
“Simple,” Niall answered anyway, letting the final chord die away. “Because I know nothing’s gonna happen to Tommo on our watch.” He knocked the back of his hand against Harry’s shoulder and winked. “And definitely not on yours.”  
  
 _...So this magical bird... Was it a pigeon?_ _  
_  
Niall immediately scowled. Harry congratulated himself on mimicking the sly tease of Louis’s tone pretty exactly.  
  
“Bloody pigeons. Be the death of me one day.”  
  
“How’d you ever manage to survive the attack?” It was Harry’s turn to join in and Niall backhanded his shoulder again, shoved a finger in front of Harry's nose.  
  
“Fucking luck, that’s how. Pure fucking luck.”  
  
 _Did Michael save you?_ _  
_  
Niall groaned, even if he was still laughing, shoving at Harry in an attempt to knock him off the bed. He came close.  
  
“He’s not bloody imaginary, you single-brain twats.”  
  
“Of course he isn’t, Nialler. How could he save you from the evil pigeon-lord of the toilets if he were imaginary?” Harry asked, putting as much gentle concern as he could into his voice and pointing at himself so that Niall knew that was his question, not Louis’s.  
  
Niall reacted the same way though, considering Harry was grinning and Louis was laughing. Not that Niall could hear Louis, but he probably had a good idea.  
  
Niall didn’t respond. At least not verbally. Instead he very purposefully launched into the opening chords of _Teenage Dirtbag_ , glaring at Harry until he got the message.  
  
So Harry finally begged off for the closest thing he could get to some alone time, but only after managing to control his laughter. He walked into the kitchen with his journal and Louis’s muttering filtering through his consciousness, after Louis had controlled his laughter too, of course.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bird shit. Fucking bird shit. The lad is mental._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled and plopped himself down at the island, resting his cheek on his palm.  
  
“And you thought I was the alien.”  
  
 _You still are. Just didn’t realize you brought family with you. It’s the accent, temporarily threw me off is all._ _  
_  
“Don’t worry. Niall’s right. We’ll get that bird shit out of your hair.”  
  
 _You’ll get bird shit in yours if you keep it up._ _  
_  
“Oh yea? You and what bird?” he shot back, only to realize he didn’t like how that question sounded _at all_. He quickly dragged his phone and Zayn’s slip of paper from his pocket, adding, “You can rub bird shit in my hair all you want, you know. I’ll let you. You just have to do it with your own hands.”  
  
 _That will be arranged, Harold. I’ll send you a save-the-date after I’ve fucking done it._ _  
_  
“Looking forward to it." His mutter was a little more caustic than he’d consciously intended it to be. He typed in ‘lascivious’ in the search bar.  
  
 _Lascivious (adj.)_ _  
indicating sexual interest or expressive of lust or desire  
ex. a lascivious gesture  
_  
Louis’s laugh mirrored the one he was about to let out.  
  
 _No fucking surprise why this word came up with Zayn and Perrie. What I wouldn’t give to have use of me limbs right now._ _  
_  
Harry smiled, though the word only compounded on the dark cloud that had settled over his mood from his own stupid words a moment ago.  
  
He immediately caught what Zayn meant about it being interesting though. When he’d flipped the syllables earlier, he’d turned the second half of the word into the word ‘vicious’.  
  
There was something distinctly ironic about subconsciously reversing a word so that it had nothing to do with sexual interest and instead said ‘vicious’. It was like a strange Freudian slip.  
  
Harry loved love, loved love in all its beautiful forms, but even he knew that love could be downright vicious. Apparently his subconscious did too.  
  
 _Christ that’s dark. Didn’t know you had it in you._ _  
_  
“I’ve learned.”  
  
 _Who’s the arsehole who taught you that?_ _  
_  
“I’m sure you’d love to know.”  
  
 _Why d’you think I’m asking? Who was it?_ _  
_  
But Harry just shook his head.  
  
“No one. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
He shut off his mind then by simply repeating ‘no’ over and over, focusing on his journal so that when Louis asked again all he got were mental ‘no’s’ and physical silence until he finally gave up with a huff.  
  
Or maybe he was distracted by the chance to see inside Harry’s journal.  
  
Harry knew he was taking a chance by opening it. He had to flip back through quite a few pages in his journal to find the page where he kept the list of words, but he wrote _lascivious_ at the bottom beneath _onomatopoeia_ as quickly as he could before clapping his journal closed.  
  
 _So what are they?_ _  
_  
“Words.”  
  
 _Thanks for that, Harry Holmes._ _  
_  
Harry shrugged, but didn’t respond.  
  
 _Fine. What’s with the list of GSCE terms, Professor?_ _  
_  
“GCSE you mean?” He knew Louis had switched the letters on purpose but couldn’t resist taking the bait anyway.  
  
 _Semantics, mate. Wasn’t smart enough for that to matter anyway._ _  
_  
Harry frowned. He loved Louis’ sense of humour, but, rare as they were, the self-deprecating comments never sat well with him.  
  
“You just chose not to care about it. You’re one of the brightest people I know, Lou.”  
  
It was bloody true too. Louis had one of the quickest minds he’d ever come across.  
  
 _...Flattery isn’t going to make me forget the question, you know._ _  
_  
Harry expected that. He sighed, leaning back until he remembered that their island stools didn’t have backs to them.  
  
 _Obviously, Harold, they’re_ ** _stools_**.  
  
He switched gears and sat forward, thumbing at the edges of his journal without opening it.  
  
“They help me.”  
  
 _With what?_ _  
_  
Many things. His thoughts, his sanity... He’d only ever voiced it once, to Zayn, but that didn’t mean he was good at explaining it. Or that he really wanted to.  
  
 _You told Zayn? Why didn’t you tell me?_ _  
_  
“You never asked?” That was a shit reason. They both knew it. Zayn stumbled on them more than anything anyway.  
  
 _Well until about four hours ago I couldn’t exactly read your mind to know to ask now could I?_ _  
_  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Harry mumbled to himself, rubbing a hand over his temple before jerking up from his seat at the island to find something to drink.  
  
Except it didn’t matter how quiet he was, Louis was going to hear him. He hadn’t gotten used to that yet either.  
  
 _What’s that supposed to mean?_ _  
_  
Buggering shit.  
  
“Nothing. I just didn’t think to tell you, that’s all. It’s not important.”  
  
Louis didn’t respond immediately. Harry didn’t press.  
  
 _Thought we told each other everything, Hazza. Especially the ‘not important’ shit._ _  
_  
He called Harry out on that lie without actually saying it, but Harry decided not to acknowledge that part.  
  
Harry finally settled on tea, chuckling without much amusement as he filled the kettle.  
  
“Think we both know that’s not true.”  
  
He flicked the kettle on, pulled out two mugs, two teabags, the sugar and the milk while he waited for the water to boil. Turning to lean against the worktop, he crossed his arms over his chest again. It was better to just tell Louis now rather than risk it getting caught in Louis’s head until it turned into a single-minded plot to weasel it out of him. They both knew Louis would get it out of him eventually, even if he didn’t have a physical body at the moment to poke it out of him. May as well be now.  
  
“Most of the words are from one of the last literature lessons I remember from school. They keep me from letting my mind run away whenever I have...triggering thoughts. Clear my head. That’s all.”  
  
 _So...they’re a coping mechanism?_ _  
_  
“You could say that.”  
  
 _For what?_ _  
_  
The kettle clicked off and Harry turned back to the tea.  
  
“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore."  
  
 _Hazza-_ _  
_  
“Please, Lou.”  
  
He didn’t often pull the ‘please’ card with Louis. His mind fell silent for a moment and he took a deep breath in the momentary break.  
  
Louis hesitantly spoke up again.  
  
 _Haz...who is that second cuppa for?_ _  
_  
Harry glanced down and finally clued in to what he was doing as he carefully poured just the right amount of milk into the second mug, the one with the Yorkshire teabag. His jaw clenched and, with his heart curling painfully in on itself in his chest, he shoved the milk back into the fridge and threw the liquid from both cups into the sink hard enough for some of the scalding liquid to splash back at him.  
  
He didn’t want tea anymore.

*

“So Louis “misplaced” his mobile,” Paul asked but didn’t really ask. They’d been over this earlier when Zayn had called to ask Paul to set up a ride for them to the club.  
  
Whenever they were going to or from their homes, only drivers that were part of the team, that had signed NDA’s were allowed to pick them up. It made sense. While it didn’t completely ensure that no one would ever find out where the members of One Direction lived, it went a long way to keeping that part of their lives private.  
  
Right now Harry couldn’t have been more grateful. He did not want to even _think_ about the possibility of fans or press showing up at his and Louis’s flat and finding out that Louis was, well...like this.  
  
“Yea.” Zayn was sitting next to Harry in the back seat of the Escalade, wearing his leather jacket and a loose white tee underneath. “It’s dead now though, but he says it’s there. Said we’d grab it for him before someone thought to give it a charge and find out whose it is.”  
  
True to Louis’s assessment, Zayn had done his hair, in that way that made it look like he hadn’t done anything at all, like he’d just run his fingers through it and that’s how it ended up: artfully mussed.  
  
That did nothing to help their mission to remain incognito though. Honestly, they’d be lucky if they weren’t noticed. Recognized was one thing, but like Louis, Zayn, with his dark eyes and hair and exotic features, tended to be noticed by people no matter what.  
  
Harry figured they’d be very, very lucky indeed to not be noticed.  
  
 _And you think people are only going to notice Zayn, Curly?_ _  
  
”Not going to tell me I’m wrong, are you?”  
  
Course not, just saying he’s not the only one. You’re just as fit as he is. Only with none of the bad-boy mystery and ‘I just woke up like this’ vibe and more the ‘who leaves a lost teddy bear out in the cold please take me home’ vibe.  
_  
Harry rolled his eyes at the joke, but also mentally patted the top of his sweet little creature of a heart that had perked up from the words. He knew he had looks that drew attention, was told often enough by fans or in interviews constantly asking about his love life, but he also knew how to tone it down if he needed to, unlike Zayn or Louis.  
  
Hence why _he_ was wearing all black to a club with black lights.  
  
 _“If you say so.”_ _  
  
I do say so. You’re just too busy noticing everyone noticing Zayn to notice everyone noticing you.  
_  
Louis wasn’t exactly wrong, he did tend to be too busy noticing other things.  
  
“And you’re doing this because the lad’s feeling too sick to come himself. Two of you.” Paul’s gaze met Harry’s in the rear-view mirror. Paul was too good at his job to not know that something was up, but he was just as good at keeping a sharp but quiet eye and saying nothing unless he was needed.  
  
Harry gazed briefly back at him before looking out the tinted window at the lights and shops of Bond Street whizzing by.  
  
It was just past eight, the sun was completely gone by now, South Kensington already alive with lights.  
  
Paul flicked the light on and took a left towards the club.  
  
“You know he can’t hold his ale.” Harry grinned, opting to ignore the second question-not-question and deliberately joking, knowing that Louis could deny it all he wanted, but no one else would know.  
  
 _Don’t need to deny it. You’re a shit liar, Haz. We’ve been over this._ _  
_  
 _“Who says I’m lying?”_ He was _not_ about to talk to himself out loud. Bad idea. Out of habit, he turned back from the window to see if anyone else noticed and found Zayn watching him. Zayn knew exactly what was going on right now.  
  
 _That why you were deliberately only looking out the window just then?_ _  
_  
He did much better at stretching the truth if people couldn’t see his eyes. Unfortunately Louis knew it too.  
  
“Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Lad was almost blackout drunk last night when we left," Paul mused. “So if any of you lads were going to lose your phones, it’d be Louis.”  
  
 _Oi. Thought I was your favourite, Paul._ _  
_  
Harry couldn’t see a way of relaying that message to Paul without 1) making no sense or 2) sounding like he was agreeing with Louis, so he said nothing. Out loud, at least. He still wondered just how much Louis had had to drink to get him to that level. But he didn't ask. Not that Louis even remembered anyway.  
  
 _“Wonder how long you’d been bothering him before he told you that.”_ _  
  
Didn’t need to, Harold. Said it without any prodding from me._  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
 _“So he just randomly thought you needed that extra boost?”_ _  
  
What’s wrong, Curly? Sad you can’t always be the favourite?_  
  
Harry noticed Zayn smirking at him out of the corner of his eye and he smiled back, tapped his head and nodded, his silent cue that Louis was doing exactly what Zayn expected he was doing right now. It only made Zayn’s grin wider, even if he did roll his eyes too.  
  
Paul circled straight through two roundabouts and then took a right at the third, finally coming to a stop in front of the club. Only then did he turn to face the two of them more fully.  
  
“You’ve got fifteen minutes, lads. After that I’m coming in after you. Don’t draw attention to yourselves or this is the last time I agree to letting you go in alone.” Harry knew it was only the exclusivity of the club that allowed them to get even fifteen minutes alone inside.  
  
Zayn paused with the car door partway open, eyebrow raised.  
  
“You say that like Tommo’s going to lose his mobile in a club again.”  
  
Paul tipped his head to the side, still stern, but smiling too.  
  
“I really don’t doubt it.” He pointed at them both. “Fifteen minutes. That’s it.”  
  
 _You’re all wankers._ _  
_  
As they both ducked out of the car, Zayn sticking close to Harry’s side, Harry took a moment to murmur under his breath, “Alright, keep the comments down until we’re out of here, Lou, okay?”  
  
He wasn’t sure why he said it out loud, probably because he didn’t want to constantly keep Zayn out of the loop. Zayn spared him a glance and it was enough for Harry to know that he’d heard.  
  
 _Why? That’s the whole point of my fucking existence right now, you know._ _  
_  
Harry pressed his lips together, suddenly nervous though he didn’t have time to uncover where the feeling was coming from.  
  
Zayn squeezed his shoulder, brows furrowing slightly as he watched, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
Harry fought with himself right up to the front doors, fought with his response as the man at the door checked their IDs before he finally said, “Because I’m always going to listen to you first. And right now I need to not do that.”  
  
Then Zayn was leading him into the club and the wall of sound hit him as hard as the memories of last night.

*

  
  
  
  
“Here goes nothing." Zayn's voice was at normal volume, but the loud throb of the music turned it into mostly a whisper. Even if it was still early for a night out, the club was teeming with people, the dance floor nearly filled even now. Harry assumed it was because it was Saturday night.  
  
Except for the group of eight strangers completely filling the seats of Zayn’s coveted booth and Harry’s distinct lack of a buzz, it may as well have been as though they’d never left last night.  
  
Harry's gaze immediately flicked around the dance floor, half-expecting to see the flash of a white shirt and too-blue eyes swaying to the music.  
  
He turned towards the bar with a little less finesse than he usually mustered when they were trying to keep their heads down.  
  
The bar was long. It ran the length of one side of the space and kept with the modern luxury theme by winding without any harsh angles from the wall to the left of where they’d come in to the adjoining wall. They wove their way through towards the closest opening at the bar, near where they stood at the entrance.  
  
 _No, the other corner. By the far wall._ _  
_  
It shouldn’t, but it surprised Harry anyway when Louis suddenly spoke up and he could hear him so clearly, as though the music weren’t even playing. He paused, hand on Zayn’s arm to stop him as well and flicked his gaze towards the far corner where the bar met the wall and ended.  
  
 _”Why?”_ _  
_  
 _How should I know? It’s closest to the toilets. It’s dark and ominous. It’s the perfect place for me to_ _murder you. Just go._ _  
_  
Harry nodded and caught Zayn with hands on his shoulder and waist to hold him in place so he could say into his ear, “Lou’s saying to go to that far corner of the bar because it looks like the best place for him to kill us.”  
  
Zayn turned enough to look at Harry when he’d finished speaking, faces close enough that he didn't have to raise his voice to be heard.  
  
Harry had the distinct feeling that he was staring down Louis, not him. The red backlights behind the bar highlighting the top-shelf liquors were making Zayn’s eyes glitter. It was weirdly mesmerizing and made Harry tip his head to the side to see if the glitter would follow when Zayn’s eyes moved to follow him.  
  
Woah. It did.  
  
“Us? Or just you.”

Harry blinked.  
  
Fair question. Louis hadn’t actually specified. _  
_  
 _Haven’t decided yet. We’ll see how much I like you when we’re done here._  
  
Harry dutifully relayed the message and Zayn smirked. Harry felt like he was missing something. Probably was.  
  
It took a good few minutes to get through the mass of people and they were honestly lucky that the space was still empty by the time they got there. Harry sat down but Zayn just leaned against the chair closest to the wall, scanning the area as though something might suddenly pop out at them.  
  
“You remembering anything else, Tommo?” he asked without looking at Harry.  
  
“What can I get you?” A female bartender appeared in front of them before Louis could answer, much less Harry. She had a cleaning rag in her hand that she used to wipe down the polished black top, setting two coasters down in preparation.  
  
Dyed pink-gold hair was pulled up high on her head, long enough that it still fell halfway down her back. She had tattoos too, mostly swirls traveling up her arms and shoulders, easy to see because of the bright blue tank she wore. Two swirls dipped under her collarbones and pulled Harry’s gaze to the space in the center where some sort of wire-wrapped crystal rested against her sternum.  
  
She was beautiful.  
  
 _Jesus, Harry. Tell us how you really feel._ _  
  
“What? She is. Nothing wrong with that.”  
  
Have you ever met someone you didn’t think was bloody beautiful?  
  
“Everyone **is** beautiful in their own way, Lou.”_  
  
Louis snorted. Harry was half-way to becoming used to hearing those sounds by now.  
  
 _You’re something else, Haz. Gonna invite her over too? Don’t recommend using that as pillow-talk if you do. You can thank me later for the advice._  
  
Harry's lips parted in shock.  
  
 _“Just because everyone is some shade of beautiful doesn’t mean it has no meaning anymore.”_ _  
  
Most people don’t think the way you do. Trust me._  
  
 _“So that means I-"_ _  
_  
Zayn nudged his arm, hard.  
  
Harry blinked, refocusing to find the bartender and Zayn both watching him expectantly. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with where his eyes were still looking and he immediately flushed, shook his head, covered his eyes.  
  
“Shit. I was staring. Christ, that was so rude of me. I’m so sorry.”  
  
 _”What the fuck did I tell you about keeping the comments down, Lou?!_ ** _Don’t_** _answer that.”_ _  
_  
The bartender laughed, deliberately reached for his hand and pried it away from his face to give it a firm shake.  
  
“That’s alright. Surprisingly, I’m used to stares.” She motioned at their surroundings and then added, “And I don’t mind. You have a, mm,” she tipped her head to the side then said, “bit of an awed stare.”  
  
“What?” Harry had a feeling Louis said that at the same time in his head, but he couldn’t quite be sure.  
  
“Awed. Not predatory.” She released his hand and leaned both her hands on the bar, right behind the liquid guard. “Don’t think there’s anyone in the world who minds that kind of stare."  
  
She winked.  
  
"Whoever it is that's caught your eye must feel like the centre of the universe when you look at them with the full force of that. Point is, don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Uh. Oh.” Smooth. It wasn’t often that people tripped him up. He was a _lot_ smoother when it came to mixing and mingling and meeting. It probably had to do with the fact that he’d been dealing with having his best mate in his head for the better part of the waking day so far.  
  
“Wait.” And then he faltered, because of course he had to falter _after_ saying that one word, but he honestly had no idea how to phrase what he wanted to ask and was only digging himself a deeper grave of embarrassment.  
  
The smile she gave him was too understanding. She shifted to lean on her elbows instead.

“Easy to spot the look on someone else when you’ve being seeing that look yourself for years,” she said, fiddling with a beautiful diamond ring on her left ring finger for a moment, long enough for them to notice, before lacing her fingers. “So. What can I get you both?”  
  
“Actually,” Zayn started, finally tearing his gaze away from Harry and back to the girl behind the bar. All Harry could think was, _Gee, thanks, Malik, way to pick a perfect time to show up to the conversation. Top form, you wanker._ _  
_  
Actually, that may have been Louis. Again Harry wasn’t quite sure. Made no difference because he agreed.  
  
“We were wondering if someone working here last night could help us. We’re trying to help one of our mates.”  
  
“Oh, a mystery!” She leaned forwards, face lighting up in such a way that she suddenly looked several years younger. Harry didn’t think she was out of her twenties to begin with though. “I might only work a weekend here and there, but you’re in luck. I was here last night. So let’s have it then. Name’s Cassie, by the way.”  
  
Zayn paused before offering their names.  
  
“Zayn. The staring git is Harry.” When she just nodded, nothing more, nothing less, not seeming to recognize their names, Zayn continued, “Our mate met someone here last night. Says they really hit it off, but he ended up drinking a bit too much. Messed with his memories. We’re hoping to retrace his steps, help a lad out.”  
  
Zayn was much better at stretching the truth than he was.  
  
“Not that often I get to help someone, but I’ll do my best. Make no promises though.” She looked to the left and signed something to one of the other bartenders. “This place isn’t exactly hurting for business and we were full-up last night. You have a picture of him?”  
  
Zayn looked to Harry and Harry had his phone halfway out of his pocket before he paused.  
  
“You got one, right?”  
  
Confusion slid over Zayn’s features and Harry shook his head only enough for him to catch the movement and tapped his fingers against his temple.  
  
Understanding or amusement (they tended to mix whenever Zayn was looking at him, he realized) replaced the confusion on Zayn’s face and Zayn nodded. He dragged his phone out and pulled up a photo with a few swipes of his thumb. He handed his phone to Cassie.  
  
Cassie peered down at the photo, the phone angled so Harry couldn’t see exactly which photo of Louis Zayn had pulled up. They’d taken a couple last night, so maybe it was one of those. When she glanced up at him and then back down to the photo, Harry got the feeling that he was in the photo too. When she looked back at him _again_ and her eyes dragged down what she could see of him, like she was taking in how he was sitting, Harry had to wonder exactly which photo of the two of them Zayn had showed her.  
  
“Oh I definitely remember him,” she finally said, handing the phone back to Zayn without taking her eyes from Harry's.  
  
“Bloody brilliant. What’d he do?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. But Cassie just laughed.  
  
“Nothing abnormal for a club full of alcohol, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She was back to leaning against the bar, angled towards Harry this time. “I like to people watch. Part of the job description anyway. Some people just stick out more than others.”  
  
She wasn’t looking away and Harry usually had no trouble keeping eye contact, but she seemed to be looking straight through him.  
  
“Like lightning strikes in the middle of a thunderstorm. Blinding flashes that leave imprints in your vision long after everything’s gone dark again.” She leaned back and looked at Zayn and Harry remembered to inhale. “Your mate’s one of those, as I’m sure you know.”  
  
“Well we’d never be thick enough to say something like that to him,” Zayn muttered, but unfortunately Harry heard it, which meant Louis heard it too.  
  
 _Why, Z, I didn’t know you felt-_ _  
_  
“Do you know if they let magic into this place?” Harry blurted before Louis could finish speaking. It did the trick, surprising Zayn, surprising Louis into silence, and certainly surprising Harry himself. He honestly had no idea why he’d said it. Probably because of Louis. He usually blurted things because of Louis.  
  
But Cassie’s face lit up as though he’d just pulled out a favourite childhood toy way past when society decided you’re supposed to still care: excited to see it but careful not to let anyone else see it too.  
  
“Of course they do.” She was almost giddy now as she leaned in, arms crossed on the bar. “I mean, it’s not like mages look different or anything. And even if the bosses wanted to keep them out, there’s too many out there anyway.“  
  
“But I thought mage’s were rare?” Zayn still looked surprised, though probably from Cassie’s reaction as well as Harry’s insanity.  
  
“Are they?” Cassie leaned in conspiratorially towards him. “Or do we all just think they’re rare because we don’t know who they are?”  
  
She turned her gaze to Harry.  
  
“Everyone’s got a little bit of magic in them. I think some people are just closer to using it than others. From what I’ve read, mages are already there, so they use theirs to help others get closer to using their own. Personally, I’d say you’ve got a 1 in 78 chance of meeting a mage and not even knowing it.”  
  
“Oddly specific,” Zayn pointed out.  
  
Oddly specific indeed. Harry frowned, mind immediately flashing to the 78 Louis had tattooed on his chest about a month ago.  
  
“Just sensible.” She reached beneath the bar and pulled out a deck of cards which she set on the bar, plucked out one and held it it in front of them. “Hiding in plain sight.”  
  
He and Zayn both peered at the card, expecting to see one from a normal deck of cards.  
  
Zayn squinted and then asked, “High Priestess?”  
  
“What?” Cassie turned the card back to herself and then swore, laughing to herself as she lifted the deck and fanned them apart to look for one.  
  
“Well, so much for mystique.” She flicked out another card and handed it to Zayn. “You’d think I’d have that trick down by now. My girl’s always said that counting’s never been my strong suit though.” She laughed again. “Loving magic and being able to use it are definitely not the same thing, huh.”  
  
Harry looked down at the card in Zayn’s hand. It was some sort of Art Deco image of a man in what looked like robes, an infinity symbol drawn over his head as he held one arm with...a candle?...a scroll? above his head. At the bottom it said ‘THE MAGICIAN.’  
  
“See? One in every 78.” She winked, tapping the deck. Ah. So that's where the 78 came from. Harry released a slow breath of relief.  
  
“So. Now that you officially have the attention of this amateur trickster,” Cassie still looked incredibly excited and secretive, “you really think your friend found a mage last night? Here?”  
  
Harry shared a look with Zayn but Zayn gave him a shrug as though to say _you started it, you’re finishing it._ Harry turned back, took a breath, and nodded.  
  
“He’s um. We think he’s been cursed.”  
  
Something close to astonishment registered on her face. She shook her head like she was clearing it and leaned in closer so her words could be even quieter, just between them.  
  
“Why do you say that?”  
  
“He’s stuck asleep. We don’t know how to wake him up.” Harry automatically matched her volume, voice barely reaching across the space of the bar. Maybe he should have thought more carefully about his words before saying them.  
  
“And you think it’s a curse?”  
  
“He’s not sick,” Harry said quickly. “We’d have called the paramedics if that were it.”  
  
“No no.” Cassie waved her hand, shook her head, took a breath. “I mean, you said ‘curse’ specifically. Why?”  
  
“Because he’s stuck and can’t wake up back in his own body?” Zayn questioned, glancing behind him at the rest of the club to make sure no one else had noticed them.  
  
He was a bit late for that, but Harry appreciated that he remembered at least. Something about Cassie’s tone made him want to look over his shoulder too.  
  
“He’s under the Sleeping Beauty spell?” Cassie looked even more excited, even more shocked, even more careful to keep quiet. “Really? I’ve read about them. To know of it happening to someone I’ve seen in real life...wow. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”  
  
 _Sleeping Beauty spell? For fuck’s-_ _  
_  
 _”Lou.”_  
  
“Wait, read about them?” Harry asked quickly, before his mind could fully focus on Louis again.  
  
Cassie glanced at Harry and this time it was her turn to look surprised.  
  
“Well, yea. He’s not the first one it’s happened to. There’s stories all over of people who got the same spell if you actually look for them online. Why d’you think it’s got a name?”  
  
They hadn’t thought about that. _Why_ hadn’t they thought to look up if this had happened to anyone else.  
  
“I’ve read a lot about magic. I wish I could help you more, but if there’s one thing I remember about these sorts of spells it’s that they can only be completed by the one who did it in the first place.”  
  
“So we have to somehow find not just any mage, but _the_ mage who did this to him?” Harry couldn’t keep the dread out of his voice. But Cassie shook her head.  
  
“I’m saying, if he _has_ been magicked, your friend is the one who put himself there. He’s the only one who can complete it.”  
  
“You’re saying that like he chose this but there’s no way he chose this.”  
  
Cassie focused on him, her gaze as penetrating as Zayn’s tended to be. Except she seemed a lot more focused on uncovering every detail she could about this spell rather than unraveling Harry.  
  
“Does he remember not choosing it?”  
  
“No, but there’s no way he would have done this willingly.”  
  
“None at all?”  
  
“What did you mean when you said ‘complete it?’”  
  
Harry was grateful Zayn spoke up into the silence where his answer should have been, because Harry’s mind was reeling now.  
  
“I mean complete the journey.” Cassie tapped the cards in front of her and held up another card, this one with ‘THE WORLD’ written across the bottom.  
  
And a naked lady. But that didn’t seem to be the important part. Harry didn’t think this whole curse was simply to help Louis pull on a night out.  
  
He reeled back from that thought as Cassie said, “If he’s magicked, there’s no going back. He won’t be the same when he comes out. Breaking the spell only happens with some sort of accomplishment. That’s the whole point of a mage’s spell from what I’ve read. And why you have to choose it yourself.”  
  
“So we either find the person who did this to him, or he has to suddenly remember what happened and we have to hope the way to break it is in his memory?” Even as Harry said it, the dread continued to curl up around his little creature of a heart, causing it to retreat further into one corner of his chest.  
  
“Cassie!” She glanced over to another bartender who was signing something to her and she nodded, waved a hand back.  
  
“Even the mage who gave him the spell can't reverse it. Only he can do it. Look, all the stories I’ve read online say that the mage has given him everything he needs to break it. They say if you give him back his body he’ll remember how.”  
  
In her haste to get back to work, she swept up the cards with about as much finesse as Harry felt he had on a good day and knocked one of them out. It went skittering towards the end of the bar and Harry caught it before it could drop to the floor.  
  
He held it up, stared at a high stone tower up in flames, the black background of a permanent night caught in the moment of a lightning strike, two people frozen in a freefall plummet, terror eternally etched on their faces. His wee creature froze in icy dread.  
  
He dropped the card on the bar, pressed his palms into the rounded edge and took a deep breath through his nose.  
  
“Shit, wait, that’s not-" Cassie pressed a hand over one of Harry’s to get his attention.  
  
“Cassie!”  
  
“Coming!” She turned back to Harry. “I really wish I could help you more. All I know is that you have to give your friend back his body and he’ll remember.”  
  
She squeezed his hand until he looked up at her, then gave him a hopeful, optimistic smile. “Bring them together and he’ll remember. I’m sure of it.”  
  
Tucking the deck back behind the bar, she snatched up the rag she’d been cleaning with then disappeared around the corner.

_Haz. Harry, wait. Harry. Hazza!_ _  
_  
Harry pushed through the mess of bodies, just shy of actually pushing people in his rush to get to the club’s exit. Somewhere in the back of his mind this moment registered as dramatic, his singular need to get out of the club and to get outside, to take in a large gulp of February air so the needles of cold filling his lungs would distract his heart from the wild beating it was now doing to the bars of its cage.  
  
 _Harry! Fuck’s sake-_ _  
_  
“Harry!” Zayn caught up with him just as he hit the exit, grabbing his arm and steering the both of them away from the line of people waiting to get inside.  
  
The physical touch was enough to break through to Harry and he didn’t try to pull away, welcomed it. Zayn pulled them both just around the bend of the far corner of the building, where he pressed Harry against the bricks with a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“What the fuck. What the fuck are we supposed to do, Zayn?” He scrubbed his hands harshly over his face, shoved them down, looked up, decided it wasn’t enough and did it again. The results weren’t much different. “There’s no way we’re going to find _the_ bloody mage who apparently can't help anyway and Lou doesn’t remember anything!”  
  
“You’re letting a silly drawing get to you. Calm down. We got lucky and found out more than we expected, right?” Zayn leaned in close and slouched down slightly so he was lower than Harry and could see Harry’s eyes while Harry was ducking his head towards the ground.  
  
“Oh yea. Because ‘he won’t be the same’ and ‘only he can get out of it’ and ‘just give him back his body’ are all perfectly fucking perfect. So bloody lucky!”  
  
Zayn caught Harry’s face in his hands and forced him to look up right into his eyes.  
  
He paused then said, “First off, she was only telling us what she’d read. That doesn’t mean it’s true, or that it’s the only way. Second, we have more to go on now, right? And third, even if it is fucking true, do you really think Tommo won’t do everything he fucking can to get back to his body? Get back to-" he cut off, pressed his lips together, dark eyes flicking back and forth between Harry’s. “Just calm down, alright? Tommo, help me out here.”  
  
“How the hell is he going to help?!” Harry just barely managed to cut down what started as a shout back to a whisper, throwing his hand up and then grabbing onto Zayn’s wrist, holding on. “He’s just a _voice_ , Zayn! A voice that only I can hear. Don’t you think he has enough to deal with without having to deal with me too?”  
  
“Harry, _stop_.” Zayn shook him once, a hard edge to his voice now. “Louis doesn’t ever _deal_ with you. You’re his best mate. You _deal_ with people you don’t like. You _deal_ with inane everyday shit. You don’t deal with the people you care about.”  
  
He let Harry go, but returned one hand to Harry’s shoulder as the other fished out his phone to quickly check the time.  
  
“Look, Paul’s going to come looking for us if we’re not out there in two minutes. Calm down, alright? He finds you like this and we’ll have to explain it all to him because you can’t lie for shit when you _aren’t_ out of your mind, much less when you are. Just calm down and talk to Louis, ok?”  
  
Harry slumped against the bricks, letting his eyes fall shut.  
  
“How do you know he hasn’t been talking this whole time?” he finally mumbled, letting his hand fall from Zayn’s wrist in resignation.  
  
Zayn squeezed his shoulder.  
  
“Because you haven’t laughed yet. Because you’re still worked up.” He clapped his shoulder twice, squeezed again. “Deep breaths, ok? Listen to Tommo.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath and nodded, but Zayn was still watching him. He could feel his too-penetrating stare on him. So he opened his eyes and said, “Fine.”  
  
Still Zayn waited.  
  
 _...Don’t blow this up, Haz. It’s just bird shite, remember?_ _  
_  
A too-wet, too-choked laugh spilled from Harry, shoulders sagging against the weight of Zayn’s hand still pressing him to the wall.  
  
“There we go.” Zayn finally released his shoulder, carded a hand through his own hair and took a deep, slightly shaky breath. “Come on, let’s get back to yours.”  
  
After they got back in the car and Harry pulled Louis’s phone, switched off of course, out of his pocket and showed it to Paul, the ride back was silent. Paul was never one to initiate small talk when it was clear the boys didn’t feel like talking.  
  
He and Zayn really couldn’t talk out loud anyway, and Harry just felt tired. Louis stayed silent after that one comment and Harry wasn’t sure if it was because he could somehow sense that Harry needed the quiet, or because with the car so silent there was nothing for him to give commentary on.  
  
Either way, by the time they got back all he honestly wanted to do was sleep, sleep the lingering hangover off, sleep the stress of the situation off, sleep and for just a little while stop having to be so mentally focused. Sat on the right side of Louis’s bed with his back to Louis, he was only half-listening as Zayn filled Liam and Niall in on what they’d found out at the club. For the most part, he just leaned over with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.  
  
The only thing going for him right now was that he was too exhausted to even think, so he didn’t have to worry about policing his thoughts because they were all blissfully quiet.  
  
“I’ll sleep in here with Lou,” he finally spoke up when they got to the part where he needed to be somewhat of a host, because it was his flat. Well, his and Louis’s.  
  
He and Louis were used to sleeping in the same space anyway, did it often enough on the sofa in the back lounge of the tour bus, in the dressing rooms before shows on the rare occasions Louis wasn’t off pranking someone, or when the lot of them were up late drinking and playing X-box in one hotel room. Hell, they even shared here at home.  
  
Harry remembered the last time, when Louis had crawled into bed next to him with two cuppas and they’d fallen asleep watching ‘Top 50 Boy Bands’ or something like that. The memory brought a soft smile to his face.  
  
“One of you can have my bed, then there’s the extra bed and the sofa.”  
  
“What about Tommo?” Liam asked, arms crossed over his chest. They were all quieter right now. Maybe because of the time? No, it was only half nine. Maybe because Harry had never been good at hiding when he just wanted to check out from reality.  
  
No one asked, but no one needed to ask what Liam meant.  
  
“Guess we’ll have to take turns keeping an eye,” Niall spoke into the silence when it was clear Harry wasn’t going to say anything. Or maybe they were waiting for Louis to say something. Niall shrugged. “We may not have Zayn’s round table anymore, but I guess we still have to act like knights.”  
  
“You know, what Louis says at a club should always stay at a club,” Zayn decided, even if he knew there was no way this particular joke would go away any time soon. Harry gave him points for the half-hearted attempt.  
  
“Then we’d lose out on all the shite he says about himself,” Niall pointed out wisely, shaking his head. “Sorry, mate, can’t do.”  
  
Zayn rolled his eyes but let it go. The three of them all looked over to Harry again.  
  
“What?” He’d somehow missed the memo on whatever question they’d asked.  
  
“You’re quiet.”  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
“I know, Liam. Because I’m tired.”  
  
“We know you are. We can tell.” Liam came to sit down next to him, leaning forwards a bit to see Harry’s face. “But ah...you’ve both been quiet.”  
  
Harry frowned, sat up a bit, took a moment for that to process.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yea.” Liam frowned, watching him carefully. “Not like Tommo to have nothing to say.”  
  
Harry wanted to ask how they knew Louis was being quiet too, but he was sure it had something to do with the looks on his face he got when Louis was talking. Or that Louis probably would have insisted at some point that he relay a message. So never mind, he didn’t need to ask.  
  
“He’s still there...right?” Niall asked from his spot on the other side of the bed by Louis's legs.  
  
Harry's head whipped up. His heart thumped once, painfully, as he realized belatedly that for all the peace that Louis was giving him by keeping quiet, that left them with no way of knowing if he-  
  
 _I’m right here, Hazza._ _  
_  
Harry hadn’t realized how quickly he’d wound right back up until hearing Louis’s voice sent his shoulders actually slumping forwards in relief.  
  
“Yea. He’s still here.”  
  
Niall grinned. He always found a reason to grin. The moment he didn’t Harry would really start to worry.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Harry tuned out again as the three of them discussed shifts and who slept where and who would wake up when. Something about two and a half hours each so they could all get somewhere around eight hours of sleep and have someone always watching Louis just in case.  
  
A hand touched down on his shoulder.  
  
“Get some rest.” Zayn sat down on his other side after Liam and Niall had left the room. “Liam will wake you at half three and you wake Niall at six, ok?”  
  
Harry looked up and Zayn just shook his head before he could ask. Damn Zayn and his uncanny ability to just know things.  
  
“We’re staying up a bit to do some research. See if we can find any more information on these so-called Sleeping Beauty spells.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest but Zayn shook his head again.  
  
“Look, you really do look like you need the sleep. And seeing as you’re our only connection to Tommo right now, we really need you to be as rested as possible, ok? Don’t argue.”  
  
So he didn’t. He dropped his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, let his eyes close, muttered a _Thanks, mate_ , before dragging himself out of the room long enough to clean his teeth. He half-threw water on his face in a half-arse attempt to pretend he’d washed up, all while keeping the medicine cabinet open so he couldn’t see himself in the mirror. Padding back to Louis’s room, he stripped out of the black jeans and plain black tee he’d changed into for the trip to the club and flopped down on the bed next to Louis, not even bothering to make himself tea first.  
  
He nestled under the duvet on his left side, close enough to Louis that the side of Louis's arm pressed against his chest. The thought came to him as he was shoving the pillow just right beneath his head.  
  
He had no idea what would happen while he was asleep. Would Louis just be stuck staring into the black of the back of his eyelids? He looped his arm over Louis' stomach and held him closer at that horrifying thought.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Lou,” he mumbled before Louis could answer his thought. At least he thought he mumbled it, but he drifted off before he could take the time to think about whether he’d really said it out loud or not.


	6. Chapter 6

“You know, never did have the whole ‘show up starkers to class’ dream, but I reckon showing up half-starkers to a fucking party counts.”  
  
The mildly-sarcastic tone in that bright northern voice he loved so much easily pulled Harry’s attention from the London skyline spread out before and below him, twinkling in the half-dusk of the sun going down but not gone, painting the sky in beautiful hues of pinks and purples. He glanced to his right.  
  
Where he was stood behind the thick, low stone wall separating them from a plunge several stories to the street below, Louis was sat on it just next to him, leaning back on his hands and watching the sky too. He was wearing only the blue pyjama bottoms he’d worn to bed, shirtless and shoeless, bare feet dangling over the side of the rooftop like a casual daredevil.  
  
He looked exactly the way Harry had found him this morning and Harry couldn’t help but smile, albeit a bit sadly. If anything told him this was a dream, well, seeing Louis like this just about did it.  
  
Louis turned his head just enough to look at him, arching one eyebrow as his lips quirked up just the barest of bits.  
  
“Can almost feel meself too,” he said, as though he’d been expecting Harry to say something.  
  
Harry supposed he had, just not out loud. Louis couldn’t hear his thoughts here. Which made sense, he supposed.  
  
Louis held up his left arm, the one closest to Harry, elbow bent to show off his forearm.  
  
Harry got distracted by the muscles in his bicep shifting when he did so. Louis had such beautiful arms.  
  
“See?” Louis rubbed his fingers over the prickling of gooseflesh on his arm, blue eyes focused on the motion, trying to memorize the feel of his fingers running over his skin. Like he knew what it felt like to not feel his body.  
  
Wait.  
  
“Louis?”  
  
Louis met his eyes, his own twinkling. His smile grew, even if it still stayed small.  
  
“Little more in the fucking flesh this time, huh?”  
  
Harry couldn’t stop himself. He threw his arms around Louis, reveling in the warmth of Louis’s body against his chest. The wall Louis was sat on put several inches between their heights and Louis's head ended up right under Harry’s chin, spiked up hair, soft even with the product holding it up, tickling Harry's jaw.  
  
Harry dipped his head down until his nose was buried in those spikes, all but crushing Louis against his chest. Not crushing hard enough though, because Louis had enough room to take a deep breath against him, releasing it slowly and sinking into Harry's embrace.  
  
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the circle of Louis’s arms around him until that moment.  
  
“You can feel this?”  
  
If his voice came out a little choked, Louis didn’t comment on it.  
  
“Mm.” Louis wiggled until Harry reluctantly let go and sat next to him on the ledge, facing towards the party instead of the city though.  
  
Louis turned and scooted back along the wall so he could face Harry and stretch his legs out in front of him at the same time. He crossed his ankles, leaning back on his palms again. “Not the same way I always do in dreams.”  
  
Harry was too busy gazing at the expanse of Louis's chest so very much on display, lingering on the ‘78’ before following the line of Louis’ sternum straight down between his abs into the trail of hair that disappeared into the top of his pyjamas.  
  
Louis looked so comfortable, half-dressed and surrounded by people mingling and partying all over the rooftop garden. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Louis when he lifted his foot and wriggled his toes into Harry’s stomach, smirking when Harry jerked away from the tickle and caught his ankle at the same time.  
  
“What?” he asked, clueing back in to what Louis had just said.  
  
Louis shrugged, pulled his ankle from Harry’s grasp and sat up again, crossing his ankles once more, but this time his knees were up, spread open to prop up his arms. He couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, wanted to keep moving, didn’t want his limbs to be still now that he had them back.  
  
“I know what it’s supposed to feel like, swear I can really feel it too, but it’s just a dream, yea? So me body isn’t really feeling it, is it. Just like yours isn’t right now either, yea?” He shook his head, clearly trying to explain it. “Feels so real that I keep having to remind meself it’s a dream and not t'other way round.”  
  
He was still smiling, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something Harry couldn’t quite place.  
  
Louis nodded out towards the cityscape next to them.  
  
“I know it’s cold, know what that feels like and I really feel it, but...I’m not really cold, am I?”  
  
Now that Harry thought about it, it wasn’t all _that_ cold. It wasn’t February, he knew it was September, but he was also wearing two layers more than Louis.  
  
Louis was thinking the same thing, his gaze rolled up the length of Harry’s body, lingering on his chest almost curiously for a second.  
  
It made Harry glance down at himself and he was surprised to find he recognized the dark purple hoodie he was wearing as one he hadn’t really worn since they were on X-Factor.  
  
He'd worn it one of the first times they’d made their ongoing challenge to best each other public. He’d been wearing it the day a fan had handed him a white rose while they were all heading into the X-Factor studios through the backlot door. It was only a day or two after another fan had given him a _Harry loves Louis_ t-shirt that he’d immediately put on, not even needing to see the hint of a challenge in Louis’s eyes or the way he’d raised his eyebrow at the sight of it.  
  
When he saw Louis waiting for him by the back door, wearing a Jack Wills t-shirt that by chance matched the Jack Wills hoodie he was wearing, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Neither of them had planned it.  
  
 _Match made in heaven_ he’d said, or something like that, glancing between his hoodie and Louis’s tee before dramatically dropping to one knee and holding the flower out to Louis.  
  
And Louis, true to his nature hadn’t backed down, hand flying up to his mouth with the same amount of dramatic shock to match Harry’s.  
  
But then he’d tried to one-up Harry, taking the flower and sticking the stem between his teeth like some sort of sexy Casanova. And while yes, he was incredibly sexy, Harry still couldn’t let that slide, so he stood next to Louis and clamped his teeth around the stem too but with the grin and wide eyes of a manic mass murderer to ensure that he completely ruined the image Louis had been going for.  
  
He was sure someone could make a flip book of the entire charade. His memory included the constant clicking of cameras, but what he mostly remembered was the way Louis’s eyes were alight the whole time, smile always playing about his lips like he couldn’t stop himself.  
  
Well, smiling except when he had the stem in his mouth; Harry may have succeeded in winning that bit.  
  
Right now, Harry recognized the hoodie so easily that he also recognized that it was missing the words that he knew were on it in real life. Instead, embroidered in tiny script on the left side over the heart were five symbols.  
  
 **@978/**  
  
They were so small they almost blended with the fabric.  
  
It didn’t make any sense at all, but still made him suck in a quiet breath of surprise that they were there. He sent up a silent thank you that Louis couldn’t hear his thoughts and quickly shrugged it off. He held it out to Louis before he could see where Harry was looking, praying the embroidery was too small for him to notice.  
  
“Guess I don’t have much control over what I wear either,” he admitted sheepishly. “Not really one to wear a hoodie on a night out.”  
  
Louis stared at the hoodie for a few moments before he took it, only to stare at it again even more intently, debating whether he even wanted to put it on, brows furrowing together. The way his thumb pressed across the fabric had Harry certain for a few moments that he recognized it too, was reading the words that were supposed to be there even if they hadn’t showed up in the dream.  
  
Louis pulled the hoodie on.  
  
He said nothing about the strange sequence and Harry released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  
  
Only to then realize that Louis was wearing his hoodie and promptly forget how to breathe all over again.  
  
Which also made no sense. They shared clothes all the time. But he couldn’t deny it shifted something in him whenever Louis did.  
  
“So, rockstar.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, towards the party going on behind them. “Care to tell me where the fuck we are?”  
  
That definitely confused Harry. He didn’t even look at the rooftop before answering.  
  
“Liam’s.”  
  
“Uh huh. Right.” Louis failed to suppress a chuckle, or stop the disbelief from crossing his face. “Of course. Silly me. Because the last I checked Liam’s flat was a fucking penthouse with a rooftop garden and a fire pit. Are we still in London too?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Harry looked back out over the skyline that had no Eye, no Gherkin, no Tower Bridge or even the Thames. But without a doubt it was London. He just knew it was.  
  
Must be instincts. Must be a dream thing.  
  
Louis hopped off the wall and walked, still barefoot, towards the table full of drinks. The people milling about were a steady chatter around them, but no one was paying them any mind, just part of the scene that Harry’s mind had drawn up.  
  
And really, as Harry looked at the people, he couldn’t quite focus on any one face, even if his heart told him he recognized most of them. The only person in startling clarity was Louis, but that must be because this wasn’t a Louis his mind had dreamed up, but really truly Louis.  
  
Louis poured a double shot of some amber liquid into a frosted shot glass and threw it back, pouring a second before he’d finished swallowing the first, before Harry had closed the distance back to his side.  
  
“What’re you doing?” he asked, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder right after Louis threw back that one too.  
  
“Having a drink.” He offered Harry the third double-shot he’d just poured. “We’re obviously at a party for you, or one of those parties you’ve been bumming around for the past few months. So what else should I do but drink?”  
  
Harry frowned, lifting his chin just long enough so Louis had the range of motion to throw back this shot too. He smacked the frosted shot glass down on the table.  
  
“I don’t know why we’re here though. I didn’t choose this.”  
  
“And you think I did?” Louis turned his shoulder just enough to direct the words to him, but he was very much shooting a look at Harry over his shoulder. “This is your dream, Haz. I’m not here because I’m supposed to be here. Do whatever you need to do.”  
  
“But you are here.”  
  
“Mm. Funny that.” Louis changed his mind and turned away to pour himself yet another drink, knocking Harry’s chin off his shoulder with the movement. “Don’t mind me though.” He turned back to the partygoers and half-sat against the drink table, sipping at the liquor this time. “I’m still just a voice remember. Even if you can suddenly see me.”  
  
Harry did not need to be reminded that this wasn’t real, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make the most of it.  
  
He plucked the shot glass out of Louis’s hand as he brought it to his lips again and downed the rest of it, setting it on the table as hard as Louis had. It had no burn, or even a taste, really, but vaguely held the memory of what a vodka redbull should taste like.  
  
“What parties have I ever been to with you where we don’t spend it together?”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes.  
  
“I know that. But that’s only if we’re actually at one together.” Louis didn’t seem the lightest bit disturbed that Harry had taken his drink. He crossed his arms over his chest, suppressed a shiver. “And no,” Louis added quickly, “that was just a statement. Don’t read into it.”  
  
Harry wasn’t sure how he could _not_ read into it. But he tried anyway, taking a deep breath and shifting to stand in front of Louis.  
  
“Hey, I know that none of this is easy, that you’re-”  
  
“You know?” Louis cut Harry off, locking eyes with him. It was so unexpected, the sharp but dark tone, that Harry couldn’t answer right away, which gave Louis the space to keep going. “You know how I’m feeling then? You know what I’m going through? Is that it? Have experience with this, do you?”  
  
His crossed arms suddenly looked less like a way to keep warm and far more like a way to keep Harry back. Harry wanted to surge forward and uncross them, push into the space and hug him until the tension in his shoulders melted away. He held back.  
  
“What? No, that’s not what I meant, Lou, of course it’s not.”  
  
“Then what did you mean, Harry? Tell me, because I’d love to know how I should be fucking feeling right now.”  
  
What the fuck had he missed? Louis was a solar flare, but Harry could usually tell when he was about to get burned.  
  
“I don’t know how you’re feeling. I just... know you’re not feeling good.”  
  
“What if I am?” Louis uncrossed his arms and curved his hands around the edge of the table, braced himself on his palms. It put that much more space between them. “What if I am ‘feeling good’ as you put it? Going to believe me if I tell you that? Will you listen to me if I say that? Or is that too fucked up to believe?”  
  
Harry could only stare, at a loss for what to say yet again. Louis wasn’t giving him any room either, staring at him, waiting for his answer.  
  
“But...How could you possibly be ok with all this?” Harry sure as fuck wouldn’t be. He wasn’t even now, not really. So he couldn't understand how Louis could be.  
  
Louis’s jaw clenched.  
  
“Yea. Of fucking course,” he muttered. He pushed Harry back, walking away towards the edge of the rooftop where they’d started. Harry watched him go, but when Louis turned around, Harry was standing right in front of him.  
  
Louis, for a moment, was surprised to see him there. He pressed two fingers into his eyes before shaking his head and letting his hand drop to the side.  
  
“Alright then, Haz. How should I be feeling? Ashamed?” He tossed his left hand to the side, then his right, alternating with each word. “Upset? Surprised? Shocked? Cross? Sad? Scared? Which one is it? Hm?”  
  
“I don’t know. You have to tell me. I’m not-... I can’t read your mind.”  
  
“Yea, you’re fucking right. You can’t. Because you’re not the one stuck as a fucking voice in someone else’s mind. You’re not the one who can’t feel anything because you don’t have a fucking body. Who can only see whatever the fuck someone else let’s you see. But please, fucking tell me how I should be feeling right fucking now.”  
  
Harry knew there was something more beneath the raw anger, knew that Louis couldn’t possibly be ok with all of this if he was so angry. He tried to understand, but couldn't. All he could do was tell Louis how he felt.  
  
“You’re a voice in my head. You can’t wake up. You won’t wake up. My best mate won’t wake up and he’s stuck and there’s nothing I can do! Nothing I can do except let him read every single fucking secret I have and feel terrible if I try to hide things that I have every right to hide! I’m not alright so how can you be?”  
  
When Louis said nothing, stared to the side as though he could knock a hole in the brick skyscraper next to them with a glare, Harry’s shoulders slumped.  
  
“I just want to help. Tell me? Please.”  
  
Louis laughed, but the sound was so dark, it almost hurt Harry to hear it.  
  
“I’m fine, Harry. You don’t need to help. You said it yourself, you’re not alright. The sooner I figure this out the sooner I’ll be out of your head.”  
  
Louis hadn’t been out of Harry’s head since the day they met. But Harry bit his tongue over that, because Louis was looking right at him, lying right to him, and Harry couldn’t help the anger welling up that he’d been trying so hard to keep down.  
  
Or maybe it was the twisting of his own words right back at him, as though he had no right to help. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, but that somehow he was incapable of helping.  
  
“Yea. You’re fine. You’re completely fucking fine. Because you’ve been cursed and are stuck outside of your body and we don’t know how to get you back or how long we have to get you back.” He threw his hand out towards the table of drinks they’d just left. “And deciding to down six fucking shots even in a fucking dream is definitely what someone who is ‘fine’ does.”  
  
Louis threw the shot glass in his hand at the ground next to them and Harry jumped back instinctively as it shattered. Shards of frosted glass strewed around their feet, around Louis’s bare feet. He hadn't even realized Louis was still holding it.  
  
“Jesus, Lou-"  
  
“What? You care about a fucking glass now? You just said it, Harry. It’s a dream! This is all just a bloody fucking dream!” He threw his arms out. “ _Your_ fucking dream! Does this mean I’m not fine? Because I can tell you throwing that glass _felt_ pretty fucking good to me.”  
  
“So that makes it ok? What you do in dreams says nothing about how you’re feeling because it’s a dream? We don’t even know what’ll happen if something happens in this dream because this is magic, Louis!”  
  
Harry reached for his arm, trying to pull him out of the pile of broken glass scattered around his feet.  
  
Louis flung his arm off, didn’t budge. Harry's jaw clenched.  
  
“Did you fucking do this last night at the club too? That why you were so bloody pissed when you got home? Why you chose to curse yourself?”  
  
“Maybe I fucking needed those four extra shots last night! Surprise of fucking surprises, but _you weren’t there_ so don’t _tell me_ what I did or didn’t do, what I was or wasn’t thinking. Jesus fucking Christ! Listen to yourself, Harry! And for fucking once, listen to me!”  
  
“I always listen to you!”  
  
With the wall behind Louis's knees already, Harry stepped right into Louis’ space, glass crunching under his shoes as he knocked at Louis’ shoulders hard enough to bump him off balance to get his feet away from the shards.  
  
Louis fell back and ended up sat on the ledge, bare feet off the ground and finally out of the shattered glass.  
  
Even suddenly a few inches shorter than Harry because he was sitting did nothing to dampen Louis's intensity, the sheer volatility of the solar flare that he was.  
  
“Do you? Because you did a whole fuck of a lot of listening to me when you were charging out of the damn club like it was on fucking fire. Did you even hear me, Mr. ‘Because I’ll always listen to you first’?”  
  
Harry had to fight his feet to not take a step back, body tensing, preparing for an explosion.  
  
“I wasn’t listening to anything. I only listened to Zayn because he made me.”  
  
“Yea, with his hands. With his fucking _body_. I got that part, Harry. Not much I could do, could I? I’m just a fucking voice in your head, right? Got enough to deal with without having to ‘deal with’ my best mate?”  
  
“That’s not- fuck, Lou, I-" Harry pushed his fingers into his eyes, pressed his knuckles hard against his lips.  
  
“No, it’s fine, Harry. I’m fucking used to people not listening to me. So what’s the point of trying? It is what it is. You obviously needed to not hear me the rest of the damn night.”  
  
“What the fuck are you even on about? Everyone listens to you! I listen to you. I listened to you then too!”  
  
“No, you _listened_ to me because Zayn forced you to.”  
  
“He knew it would work, not because I wouldn’t! He didn’t fucking force me. No one _ever_ has to force me to listen to you!”  
  
“Of course it fucking worked. All I did was parrot back at you what Niall said. And if he’d been there to say it himself I’m sure it would have still fucking worked.”  
  
“It _worked_ because it was _you_ saying it. Yea, Niall’s the one who started it, but you’re the one who turned it into something between us. And if Niall and Liam had been there with us they all would’ve gotten me to listen to you and see reason.”  
  
“Yea and what fucking reason is that?”  
  
“You heard Zayn. I was out of my mind, Lou. I’m fucking terrified of all this, of what could happen if we don’t figure this out, if you don’t remember what you did.”  
  
Louis shoved at Harry's chest to try and stand again but Harry refused to move back, refused to let him stomp into the glass or walk away or whatever was going on in that too-quick mind that Harry _didn’t_ _know_. Louis shoved his arms across his chest again, once again staring daggers in the side of the building next door.  
  
“I _want_ to know. I want to know what happened. I want to help.” He stepped even closer, into the space between Louis’s knees so he couldn’t easily shove him back and now had no space to stand. “Please, Lou,” he murmured, curving both hands over Louis’s crossed arms, squeezing, pleading with his eyes, his voice. “Please tell me.”  
  
“I don’t _remember_ ,” Louis ground out. The bones and muscles in his arms bunched and flexed beneath Harry's fingers as Louis squeezed his hands into fists.  
  
“But you can be damn sure that I _never_ fucking asked for this.” Louis turned his head then, met Harry’s eyes, voice dropping. “I never wanted this.”  
  
It hurt. Harry didn’t know why his little creature was cowering in the back of his ribs, why he squeezed his eyes shut, why he tipped forwards to close the distance between them, pressed his forehead against Louis’s, why he suddenly needed to breathe deeply. Who needed to breathe deeply in dreams?  
  
“I believe you.” The words barely made it through the space between them, soft as they were. But he knew Louis heard them. “I know you don’t want this. I know you’d never fucking choose this. I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
Louis didn’t move for several beats. Slowly, he inhaled, pushed out the breath just as slowly.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Harry pulled back, tried to catch his eyes, but Louis twisted his wrists out of Harry’s grip the moment he did, too loose for Harry to fight it anyway.  
  
He shoved upwards until he was standing on the ledge, half a foot above Harry now. But he didn’t try to use it to his advantage, only sidestepped and hopped back down, walking away, towards the drink table and the doors that led inside. Harry didn’t know where he was going.  
  
What he knew was that Louis was walking away.  
  
“Lou, wait-"  
  
“Leave it, Haz.”  
  
“Louis-"  
  
Louis stopped, but didn’t turn.  
  
“Just fucking leave it, alright? It doesn't f-"  
  
“Harry. Hey.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as a white ceiling with a very-sleepy very-fuzzy Liam’s face attached to it filled his vision. He blinked again.  
  
Liam patted his arm.  
  
“You’re up, mate.”  
  
He nodded next to Harry to where Louis lay in the same position as before. Sometime while he was sleeping Harry had rolled onto his back, his arm sliding off Louis until his hand was resting on his own stomach.  
  
Liam stifled a yawn as Harry eased upright. He must’ve seen something on Harry's face, because he was quick to assure, “Nothing happened. Wake Niall at 6 unless something changes, alright?”  
  
Harry couldn’t find his voice so he just nodded, rubbing his hands over his face to try and wake up, dispel the disorientation of such a sudden shift that waking up in the middle of dreaming caused. It felt like waking in the middle of deep sleep and, seeing as it was half three in the morning, that did make a lot of sense.  
  
But his heart hadn’t quite caught up to the change in surroundings and left him reeling. The fact that he could remember every single moment and detail of the dream only added to his shock.  
  
Harry threw the duvet off and got up, plodding around the bed to snatch his journal from where he’d left it on Louis’s desk before falling asleep last night.  
  
For a moment he looked down at Louis’ sleeping form, half-uncovered now.  
  
“You were moving around a bit,” Liam supplied, coming to stand next to Harry. Harry was only wearing a pair of black briefs but it didn’t faze Liam in the slightest. They were all used to Harry’s love of less clothing by now. So Harry decided he must be acting oddly enough for Liam to think something was off, if he hadn’t yet left to find some much needed sleep yet.  
  
Harry also figured he must’ve been the one to knock the blankets off, because, as restless a sleeper as Louis could be sometimes, he wasn’t moving at all now, hadn’t moved in more than a day.  
  
Unbidden, his mind replayed Louis nudging him with his toe, throwing back drinks, slamming the shot glass to the ground, standing up on the ledge with all his wild, restless energy that was almost too much to handle.  
  
Harry closed his eyes to make it stop, inhaled slowly, released it just as slowly.  
  
“What happened while you were asleep?”  
  
Liam wasn’t asking what had happened between them, even if it sounded that way to Harry, even if Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Liam could somehow read that in his mind.  
  
He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d woken up to find that suddenly all the lads could read his mind. It’d be just his luck.  
  
“I dreamed. He got to see it.” He offered Liam a half smile, hoping it might throw him off. “Was a party at yours. Did you know you have a penthouse and a rooftop back garden with a fire pit?”  
  
“Oh really?” Liam, tired as he was, still grinned at that. “Nice dreams you got there. That true, Tommo?”  
  
Harry expected silence, because this was the part where Louis usually left to cool down, to have a paddy, who knows what. He hadn't spoken yet either.  
  
But this was also the part where he couldn’t just leave. This was the part where he couldn’t talk to Liam without talking to and through Harry. And he knew Louis didn’t want to give Liam any reason to worry, any reason to ask questions.  
  
 _Yea, mate. You get a place like that and I’m reserving me own room in it. Was wicked._ _  
_  
Harry told Liam and Liam clapped Harry on the back, not nearly as firmly as he might have if he were fully awake.  
  
“Well, you keep dreaming like that, Haz, and maybe one day I will.”  
  
Harry gave him a wink, leaning down to drag the duvet back over Louis, figuring if he were in Louis’s place, he’d want to have the comfort of that extra barrier too. It was his silent way of letting Louis know that he wasn’t going to pry, that he was giving him his space.  
  
The silent part didn’t go quite as planned though, when the shock of cold against his fingers had him swearing out loud before he could stop himself.  
  
“What?” Liam’s smile immediately faded. He leaned around Harry and switched on Louis’s bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. He and Zayn must’ve only been using the light from the adjoining bathroom while Harry was sleeping.  
  
Harry shook his head, blinked at the sudden brightness until his eyes adjusted. Louis didn’t look any different in the light, eyes closed and face still relaxed in sleep, but Harry reached for Louis’s hand then touched his cheek, his ear.  
  
“He’s cold.”  
  
He could almost see the wheels turning in Liam’s head and he quickly added, “probably just because he can’t cover himself when he gets cold.”  
  
Liam only looked half-convinced, so Harry squeezed his shoulder before crossing the room to Louis’s dresser.  
  
“What’re you doing?” Liam didn’t move from Louis’ side, but he did pull the duvet up a little further around Louis.  
  
“Extra layers. Just in case.”  
  
He opened the top drawer, found a mess of socks (so Louis _did_ still own those) and, surprisingly, beanies inside. On the first try. He pulled out a knitted grey beanie. Thumbing at the soft material for a second, he tucked it beneath his arm and pulled open the two middle drawers one after another in search of something warmer than a tee.  
  
 _Bottom._ _  
_  
Harry paused, hand hovering over the knobs because Louis’s voice was unexpected. He pulled open the bottom drawer, not surprised in the least to find heaps, rather than neat piles, of polo necks and jumpers. The knitted white one caught his eye, over near the far left. He’d always thought it looked so warm and cozy whenever Louis wore it.  
  
Harry tugged it out, started to push the drawer closed and paused. Beneath the one he’d just pulled out was a purple hoodie, folded rather than just thrown in there like the others. It’d been tucked in the corner of the bottom drawer, folded in such a way that the hood acted like a sleeve to keep the fabric in place. Hesitantly he reached out and peeled the bottom part of the hood back, just enough to see the fragment of a word curving around the fold: _Jack._  
  
“Everything alright?”  
  
Harry jumped, remembered what he was doing and looked up at Liam. He quickly shut the drawer and stood up, jumper and beanie in hand.  
  
“Think this’ll do?” he asked instead of answering, holding both out to show Liam. A line formed between Liam’s brows in confusion at the question, confused at why Harry was asking him, but then he nodded.  
  
“Then I got it from here.” Harry nodded towards the door. “Get some sleep.”  
  
Liam studied him silently for a moment, but then he nodded again, plodding towards the door.  
  
“Hey Payno?”  
  
He paused, turned in the doorway, stifling another yawn. Harry smiled.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No worries, mate.” Liam lightly bumped the heel of his hand against the doorframe two times before disappearing from the room.

  
*  
  
  
  


It felt like a peace offering, the type of peace offering that Harry could actually give Louis right now, unlike Coco Pops, despite all of the strangeness of the situation.  
  
He carefully eased Louis upright and then sat behind him so he could lean Louis against his chest and slip the white pullover on him. Harry knew the last thing Louis wanted were any witnesses to this. He could very bloody well fucking dress himself. Harry didn’t need to hear Louis actually say that to fill in the statement. Louis probably didn’t even want Harry to do this, but Harry wasn’t taking any chances.  
  
Then again, he had told Harry where to find it, so maybe he did want the added barrier of clothing.  
  
This was Harry’s way of saying sorry, in a way. He’d unknowingly touched a raw nerve. As much as he could he’d devoted the last three years to making sure that nothing he did would pull the smile from Louis’s face, he’d failed tonight. That wasn’t unusual either, they had their fair share of spats, but of all the times to fail quite miserably... the last thing Louis needed right now, in the middle of this mess, was to be hurt by Harry.  
  
For a moment he just sat there, still holding the beanie in one hand. But instead of putting it on Louis, he wrapped his arms around Louis’s waist, tucked his chin over Louis’ shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position this time - Louis was lower on his chest so his head could rest against Harry’s shoulder rather than crane his neck - but Harry couldn’t be arsed to care about his own physical comfort right now. It felt wrong to care when Louis couldn’t feel any of this.  
  
Harry hoped he remembered what his hug felt like if nothing else.  
  
His wee creature only half-uncurled in his chest, enough to allow him to breathe a little more easily.  
  
He was sorry. He didn’t need to say it out loud, knew Louis could hear it. With one more deep breath he let go of Louis, slipped the beanie over sleep-mussed hair and made sure to cover Louis’s ears with the knitted fabric. He lay Louis back down on his side this time, pulling the duvet up over him again after he’d slid out of the bed.  
  
He figured the change in position couldn’t hurt.  
  
He was also very aware that Louis could hear everything he thought, but he wasn’t expecting him to answer, wouldn’t make him either, would give him the space he needed.  
  
Harry sat down in the chair next to the bed and Christ he didn’t realize they even owned chairs this uncomfortable. Was this the chair Louis was using at his desk? He promptly got up again, walked back to Louis’s dresser, grabbed out a pair of grey trackies. For a moment he stood there, staring at the left side of the bottom drawer where his purple hoodie was tucked inside.  
  
It wasn’t that Louis had it, no, they shared clothes too much to not have each other’s clothes end up in every which place. It was folded in a way that Louis never folded.  
  
Actually, Harry wasn’t sure if Louis knew how to fold clothes. He’d never seen Louis do it before and the state of his drawers didn’t offer any proof that it was some sort of hidden talent.  
  
Maybe that’s why it was so startling to see it there, tucked away in the corner like that. He wanted to ask, wanted to know but-  
  
No. He’d done enough prying for the night and now he was almost physically prying. Besides, he’d said more than enough just now about Louis’s talents and skills that if Louis had wanted to talk, he would have made at least ten different comments by now.  
  
So instead he sighed, turning away from the dresser and pulling on the trackies. Even he wasn’t daft enough to walk around in the middle of February wearing nothing more than pants. Sitting back down - Christ this chair was just as uncomfortable the second time - he opened his journal, thumbing through to the first blank page.  
  
Distantly, he was glad said blank page was on the right hand side, because the pages beneath would work as a hard surface. He set his journal on the bed in front of Louis’ stomach, where the light from his bedside lamp easily hit it.  
  
For the next hour and change his mind shut off as he tried out different positions for three nails, studying each option silently once he’d finished. He wasn’t Zayn’s level of talented when it came to drawing, but he could manage the shape of nails.  
  
He drew three of them, all crossed at the points.  
  
He drew three all in a straight line.  
  
Then with the centre nail a little lower down.  
  
Then three with the points all facing in, like a circle, like a throwing star.  
  
Then two lying down, points facing in, the third upright, facing the other two.  
  
Then two, points down, with a third horizontal over top of them.  
  
Then one pointing down with the other two crossing over it. This one looked like swords. Three musketeers or something.  
  
 _What’s that?_ _  
_  
Harry’s lips curved up automatically, just from the sound of Louis’s voice. He kept drawing.  
  
“My next tattoo.”  
  
This time he started with the centre one, point facing straight down.  
  
 _Nails?_ _  
_  
“Mm.”  
  
He angled the two on either side so their points aimed at the point of the centre one, heads slightly lower than the first. He sat back, tapped the back of the pen against the paper as he studied this one. It felt right.  
  
 _Why?_ _  
_  
“Came up with it last night,” he said instead of answering directly. But then he added, “Realized I need the extra help keeping my hinges down.”  
  
Louis didn’t say anything, so Harry continued, a small laugh escaping him. It didn’t sound all that happy to his ears though.  
  
“Ironic, isn’t it? Realizing you’re becoming unhinged the night before you start hearing an extra voice in your head. Maybe it’s a karma thing. Probably is a karma thing. Definitely a karma thing.”  
  
 _Can’t be karma, Haz. You’ve always been a little bit unhinged. How else would we know you’re an alien?_

The words were still tempered, but Harry could hear the hint of amusement that coloured Louis’s words anyway. His little creature uncurled that much more in his chest at the sound.  
  
“Thought it was because I pissed on you when we first met.”  
  
 _You pissed on me because you’re a little bit unhinged._ _  
_  
“Alright. Point.” And he meant it both ways. Point taken and point to Louis.  
  
He decided he liked this last drawing, tried a sorry attempt at shading that would probably make Zayn cringe.  
  
 _You been writing a song?_ _  
_  
Harry paused, confused, then glanced to the previous page in his journal and shook his head.  
  
“Maybe someday. It’s just a line that was kicking round my head a while back.”  
  
Louis was far better with words and lyrics, something that didn’t really surprise Harry, but he wasn’t one to ignore possible ideas when they came to him either.  
  
 _Maybe once upon a time I could still shake you off._ _  
_  
He wasn’t expecting Louis to read the sentence out loud though, like he was testing the words out, tasting the syllables to see how they flowed together. Fluid and smooth in a way that drew his accent out even more, drew a shiver right up Harry’s spine and made his skin prickle with electricity. It felt in that moment like Louis was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder as he read the words that, by default of being in his journal, were private and intimate until he chose to let them out.  
  
That was so easy to picture too. It’d happened on more than one occasion, Louis leaning over the back of the sofa or chair as he wrote, trying to be as quiet as possible so Harry wouldn’t notice him there.  
  
Now he pictured Louis successfully managing to sneak up, seeing the line before Harry could cover it, leaning in, lips brushing against Harry's ear as he whispered the words to him, like a promise, like a-  
  
Fuck. Fuck. Word.  
  
He was too tired to remember. Had he chosen one for today yet? No, of course not. It was not even six in the fucking morning. One popped up and he latched on to it.  
  
 _Synecdoche_. S-y-n-e-c-d-o-c-h-e. Sin-neck-duh-key. Necks were a sin. Yes, necks were clearly sinful. Absolutely sinful. That spot, that special spot on the neck, that was so sinful and it was the key. Duh. Of course it was the key. It was the key to everything, wasn’t it? This had to be the Greeks. Even the French weren’t thick enough to spell and pronounce a word like this. It had to be the Greeks and their philosophizing and getting on everyone’s nerves until they had to poison the philosopher. Obviously they had to poison the philosopher of this one.  
  
 _So, have a thing for necks, do you? What the fuck does that word even mean?_ _  
_  
Harry blew out a breath, oddly relieved by the second question. He swallowed and went back to shading the nails.  
  
“It’s another literary thing. Using a part of something to mean all of it. Like...calling a car your wheels.” He paused, a slow smirk sliding up his face. “Or,” he said casually, adding another line of shading with a dramatic flourish, “like saying ‘arse’ when I’m talking about you.”  
  
 _Joke doesn’t work if I can’t tell whether you’re trying to insult me or objectify me here, Harold._ _  
_  
“Depends. Will one option get your knickers in a twist?”  
  
 _Well, if one does, I’ll scream me bloody head off for me poor bollocks._ _  
_  
Shit. Harry knew where this was going. Doubly knew it when Louis matched his casual tone.  
  
 _Oh, right. Forgot I don’t have a head right now. Funny that. Meant to say I’d scream_ ** _your_** _bloody head_ _off._ _  
_  
Harry winced preemptively. He remembered how painful Louis’ shout had been back at Liam’s, when his voice wasn’t nearly as loud as it was in his head now.  
  
He pouted and begrudgingly gave the point to Louis.  
  
 _Why thank you, Haz. I shall cherish it forever._ _  
_  
“You better,” he grumbled. Then he decided that it was his lack of sleep, which didn’t seem to be a problem for Louis right now since he didn't have a body to get tired. That must’ve given Louis the upper hand and now Harry didn’t feel quite so bad.  
  
 _Are you quite finished?_ _  
_  
“Mm. Now I am.” He went back to shading the nails, deepening the outlines.  
  
 _Why’d you need one of your words? What happened?_ _  
_  
Harry snorted. Why else but Louis?  
  
 _Me?_ _  
_  
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. He hadn’t meant to just think that. This is why he should never be half asleep. Ever. He sighed, dropped the pen and nodded. He couldn’t help it when he looked over at Louis’ sleeping face, features highlighted in the soft glow of the lamplight, as though that was enough of an answer.  
  
By the time he actually answered he’d dragged his gaze back to his journal.  
  
“Can you blame me for being worried? Already told you I was.”  
  
Louis was silent for several ticks longer than usual. That didn’t make it unusual though. Not to Harry.  
  
 _I’ll remember. You don’t need to worry about me._ _  
_  
That wasn’t going to happen, but he decided to humour Louis and didn’t argue. It felt too much like something Louis had already said in that dream and he didn’t care to remember that right now.  
  
 _What are the numbers?_ _  
_  
Apparently Louis wanted to change the subject too. For all the staring at his journal that Harry had just been doing, he only now actually focused on it, on the scribbles littering the opposite page with the quote on it.  
  
 **@978/** **  
**  
Well, not much he could do about it now.  
  
“Just something that gets stuck in my head.”  
  
 _ **That** gets stuck in your head? Why?_ _  
_  
“Because I haven’t figured out how to stop it yet.”  
  
 _Well what do they mean then?_ _  
_  
Harry smiled, but only out of habit. Tracing over one of the sequences again with the pen, he branded it more permanently on the page. He glanced at his phone when it lit up with the alarm he’d set. 6AM.  
  
“Everything apparently.”  
  
He closed his journal and slid his hand under the duvet. Curling his fingers around Louis’s for a quick check, he frowned at how cold he still felt, before he dipped out of the room to go wake Niall.

Niall had decided to take the sofa, so Harry only found him, mumbling something in his sleep as usual, after finding both Zayn and Liam asleep in Harry’s bed and the extra bed respectively. He leaned over the back of the sofa and nudged at Niall’s arm until he finally woke up, though barely.  
  
Being the entertainers they were, with a schedule that tended towards late nights, none of them did particularly well with early wake ups. With a schedule so packed, they were bound to happen coming up though and that was one part of the tour none of them were all that excited for really.  
  
“Your turn,” Harry said by way of greeting. When Niall just stared blankly at him as though he were some sort of ghostly alien, Harry gave him a smile, complete with dimples. “Come on, mate. Wake up before my dimples get you.”  
  
Niall blinked several times, mumbling something else under his breath as he lugged himself into a sitting position and cracked his back. Quite loudly too. Harry swore he heard each and every vertebra pop.  
  
“All good?” Niall asked mid-yawn, squeezing his eyes shut and blinking again, looking at Harry.  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
“Yea, all good.”  
  
“And you?” Niall asked, still blinking a bit owlishly.  
  
Harry tried to suppress his smile.  
  
“Same.”  
  
Niall tipped his head to the side, blinked one more time, leaned in and peered right into Harry’s eyes.  
  
“And you, Tommo?”  
  
 _Well me eyes aren’t nearly as dry as yours apparently are, mate._ _  
_  
Niall blinked again when Harry relayed that. It took a moment to get it but then he nodded, grinned.  
  
“If I weren’t half asleep I’d have something to say to that. Oh wait, I know.” He deliberately fluttered his eyes at Harry. “Stop staring at me eyes, Tommo. I know they’re a dream.”  
  
 _Pretty sure mine are bluer._ _  
_  
“Oh no don’t start that,” Harry said out loud before he thought to tell Niall what Louis had said. Then he had to and Niall closed first one eye and then the other, as though that helped him think.  
  
Or he was just being cheeky.  
  
Probably both.  
  
Niall was weird.  
  
“Guess we’ll just have to ask a third party to judge that.”  
  
 _Alright. Go on, Haz. Tell him._ _  
_  
“And no, it definitely can’t be Haz,” Niall said over top of Louis - not that he knew he was doing it - leaving Harry to try and process what they both had said at the same time. Niall pointed a finger at Harry’s face, but Harry didn’t know if he was pointing at him or at Louis. “That’s cheating.”  
  
Before either he or Louis could answer though, Niall dragged himself out of the blankets and stood, waving absently at Harry as he trudged towards Louis’s bedroom. Halfway down the hallway Harry distinctly heard him mutter, “bloody Yorkie.”  
  
Harry waited a beat before he said, “Pretty sure Nialler just called you a dog.”  
  
 _Pretty sure he was just trying to make me home sound like an insult. Impossible to do, but he is still_ _learning the art of insults._ _  
_  
“Mm. No I think he was calling you a dog. Makes sense.”  
  
 _And how the bloody hell does that make sense, Harold?_ _  
_  
“Follows the pattern.” Harry grinned, though he kept his voice as even as possible. “Now you’re one of those wee yippy dogs with bird shite in your fur. Wonder what he’ll come up with next.”  
  
 _If anyone’s a wee yippy dog it’s you, Squire Four-Nipples. Now go back to bed._ _  
_  
“Hey...Leave my nipples alone. They’re a proper family you know.”  
  
 _Actually, I don’t. And no, I also don’t want to know. Go back to bed._ _  
  
_Harry meant to pull himself upright and follow Niall, but instead he leaned over and flopped straight over the back of the sofa onto the cushions, moaning at how perfect they felt beneath his body. Suddenly the walk back to Louis’s room seemed far too...well, far.  
  
 _You are not falling asleep here, Haz. Don’t even think about it._ _  
_  
“Mm.” Harry waved a hand out somewhere in front of him, pleased with his own response.  
  
 _I will wake you up._ _  
_  
Harry groaned this time, which really was just a moan and a pout at the same time.  
  
“Fine. Just for a bit.” He rolled himself to sitting and reached for the remote. Flicking the telly on, he half-focused as he scrolled through Sky+ and selected an old Man U. footie match against Chelsea that neither of them had gotten round to deleting yet. Man U. was their favourite team and the match had been bloody good.  
  
 _I know what you’re trying to do._  
  
“Just watch, Lou. And you’re welcome.” Harry yawned, sat up straight, forced his eyes open. Even though he was half asleep, watching a footie game wasn’t exactly terrible for him. He loved watching footie with Louis, even if now this only made him miss the warmth of Louis's body next to him on the sofa, leaping and shouting at the telly. He quelled the tightening of his chest before it could hurt his little sweet creature too much.  
  
 _...It’s still not going to work._


	7. Chapter 7

It did work.  
  
Either that, or Louis’s room had suddenly turned into a football pitch.  
  
He didn’t think Louis would particularly mind that, really.  
  
The simple fact of the matter had more to do with size and dimensions though, and their flat wasn’t big enough to house an entire football pitch.  
  
Louis may be a king, but they didn’t live like the Queen.  
  
And the dark open sky above them coupled with the floodlights meant they were definitely in a stadium.  
  
So no, Louis’s bedroom had not turned into a football pitch.  
  
“On the bloody sofa again. What is it with you and having a kip on sofas?”  
  
So this must be another dream.  
  
Huh.  
  
“If you whinge _once_ when you wake up, I will give you a nice long yell as payment for forcing me to listen to it, you tit. Think of it as a very loud ‘told you so’.”  
  
Harry swivelled around to his right to find Louis standing about five yards away from him, arms crossed over his chest. The same grey beanie Harry had put on him earlier still covered most of his hair, but did nothing to tame the explosion of messy fringe sweeping across his forehead. Louis’s mouth dropped open the moment he turned.  
  
“What the bloody fuck? Why are _you_ the one fucking wearing the Rovers?”  
  
He was openly staring, eyes roaming across Harry’s chest and even if it was a dream, it felt like a surge of power, like his heart wanted to leap out of its cage and prance and preen under the attention.

Louis was born with eyes that were just that shade of blue, so noticeable that Harry couldn’t help but track their movement. Harry quickly glanced down at his own kit, surprised to find that yes, he was wearing the red and white striped home jersey of the Doncaster Rovers, and the grey trackies he’d borrowed from Louis too.  
  
Louis closed the distance between them, tapping the football at his feet forward as he came to Harry’s side, right on the centre circle line.  
  
“I can’t believe you’re bloody wearing me team, you fucking loser.”  
  
It must be cold. Harry couldn’t quite feel it, but Louis’s breath misted as he spoke and although Louis was wearing gym shorts, beneath the deep red Man U jersey he wore was a long-sleeve white thermal that reminded Harry of the sweater he’d put on him with the beanie. The jersey reminded Harry of the duvet on Louis’s bed too, almost the same colour. It may have been the wrong team, but their home colour _was_ Louis’s favourite colour _and_ it contrasted with the blue of Louis’s eyes, until to Harry they looked like they’d been electrified.  
  
That could also be the obvious jealousy shining in them because Harry was the one wearing his team though.  
  
He had no fucking idea why he was wearing a Donny Rovers jersey, but-  
  
“Loser?” He looked down at himself again and a smile as slow as his speech spread over his face. “Doesn’t this automatically make me the winner?”  
  
Louis crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. Yes, Harry said it - well, thought it - petulantly.  
  
“It makes you a bloody pain in me arse.”  
  
If this was a dream, he wondered...  
  
“So are you going to whinge at me or actually play?”  
  
“Wh-“  
  
Harry swept his foot forward, stole the ball from right at Louis’s feet and raced towards the goal before Louis realized what exactly had happened. Dribbling forward, he only made it about ten metres before Louis caught up to him, cutting in and stealing the ball. He flicked it up with his toes so it popped right over Harry’s foot and behind him.

Louis spun past him and caught his own pass, dribbled back a few metres and turned, putting Harry on the defensive in front of the same goal he’d been trying to get to all of five seconds ago.  
  
They both paused for two beats, then Louis swirled his right foot around the ball before he knocked it behind his right foot with his left, feinting left only to tear up the right side of the pitch towards the penalty line. Harry barely had a chance to catch up to him before he chipped it up and swung the same leg, catching the ball at knee height and launching it straight into the back of the net.  
  
“I’m thinking we should do best of five,” Harry mused as Louis flicked his wrist triumphantly. He scooped up the ball that was back at his feet.

Louis laughed, loud and bright, walking backwards and holding his arms out to give Harry space. A beaming smile spread over his face, confident and challenging and incredibly fucking sexy.  
  
What? Harry only called it as he saw it. And fuck was that impossible to miss.  
  
“Prolonging your downfall?” Louis crouched into a defensive position, feet spread, bracing to sprint forward. “Let’s have it then, Haz.”  
  
So... Harry did. He handled the ball the way he’d always seen Louis do it, the way all the professionals did in the matches. His feet actually followed this time, light taps, easily steering the ball, keeping Louis on his toes until several minutes later he actually found the way clear and took the shot.

The ball rocketed across the ground and smashed into the net at the back left corner of the goal.  
  
The look of surprise on Louis’s face, fleeting but oh-so-there, was better than actually scoring and Harry leapt up, shouting and cheering himself on until Louis threw an arm around his shoulders and caught him in a headlock, scruffing his hair as Harry laughed, tried to get away.  
  
“Alright then, Paynter.” Never in Harry’s wildest dreams did he ever think he’d hear Louis liken him to one of the Rover’s top players. Louis pulled back with the same grin that Harry immediately knew meant trouble. Or pranks. Or both. “You’re on.”  
  
Harry knew the secret, he did. He really did. Keep your eyes on the ball, focus on the ball, not the fancy footwork of your opponent. But Louis’s ball handling skills were incredible, so much so that Harry couldn’t help but watch his feet, which ended up in him turning to then either watch Louis dribble right up to the undefended goal and tap it in, or watch him easily knock it past him into the back of the net because Harry kept giving him a clear shot.  
  
At one point he even completely forgot not to be the amateur he was in comparison to Louis and had his feet far enough apart that Louis tapped the ball straight between them and took off for the goal.  
  
‘Best of five’ turned into ‘best of until we fall down’ though because, surprisingly enough, Harry managed to score enough times to keep pace with Louis, only ever one or two points behind him, but still always one or two points behind him.  
  
‘Best of until we fall down’ also ended up being his doing. He caught his own foot rather than the ball and tripped sideways into Louis, who was trying to get the ball from him, sending the both of them tumbling to the ground.  
  
“Oi, you uncoordinated oaf,” Louis half-laughed, breathless from play and winded when Harry landed half on top of him. He shoved Harry off, still laughing. “That isn’t how you take possession of the bloody ball.”  
  
Now that Harry was on the ground, he didn’t particularly feel like getting up, so he rolled onto his back, hands flopped over his stomach, breathing heavily.  
  
“Oops.”

Louis wasn’t looking to see his cheeky grin, but he was sure Louis could hear it in his tone.  
  
“Hi to you too.”

That pulled another laugh out of Harry. Yep, Louis caught it.  
  
For a few moments they said nothing, catching their breath. Harry watched his own billow up in a cloud from the chill of the air.  
  
“This is definitely your bloody dream.”  
  
Harry lolled his head to the side, staring at Louis’s profile. His chest was heaving still, but he stared up at the sky too, sprawled out on the ground next to Harry, loose and relaxed. The smile playing about his lips reminded Harry of the night at the club, the last time he’d seen him so relaxed. Well, last time he’d seen him awake too.  
  
Then he remembered words. Because here, in dreams, Louis couldn’t hear his thoughts, his unspoken question.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Louis gave him half a glance to match the half-flop of his hand in Harry’s direction before it fell back to his side.  
  
“Because you’ve never been this fucking good at footie in real life.”  
  
Harry beamed, wide enough to unleash the full force of his dimples, which had Louis rolling his eyes.  
  
“Guess my knowledge and understanding of the game is actually useful somewhere.” He rolled onto his front and set his chin on Louis’ stomach, peering up at him. He couldn’t stop smiling. He was so bloody happy. “Still not better than you though.”  
  
Louis lifted his head from the ground just enough to peer down at him and promptly star-fished his hand over Harry’s face at the blatant flattery Harry had pasted all over it.  
  
“That’s not possible anyway. Even in your bloody dreams. Those legs of yours have enough trouble proper walking with the balls already between them.”  
  
Harry laughed and licked at his palm, saying when Louis jerked his hand back, “What can I say. Sometimes big can be hard to handle.”  
  
Louis snatched his beanie off at that and smacked Harry in the face with it over and over then smooshed it into his face, muffling Harry’s laughter.  
  
“Well one of these days maybe you’ll learn how to fucking use them.”  
  
Harry blindly dug his fingers into Louis’ side. Louis squawked at the tickle and Harry grabbed the beanie and tucked it beneath his cheek on Louis’ stomach like a pillow, keeping the same shit-eating grin on his face that Louis had tried to cover twice now.  
  
“Well if I do ever learn to use them, it won’t be for footie though. That’d be a waste.”  
  
He mentally began preparing a response to whatever sexual comment Louis was about to make to that.  
  
Louis picked his head up again to look down at him, arching one eyebrow. His eyes were doing that twinkling thing again, like he was tracking Harry’s thoughts. Then he smirked.  
  
“Why? Don’t ever want to try and best me?”  
  
Leave it to Louis to keep him on his toes even lying on the ground.  
  
Harry laughed. Again. He couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up and spilling out of him. He rolled onto his back once more, though he didn’t relinquish his favorite pillow. Louis’s fingers had already found his hair and were picking apart his sweaty curls and even if the goal was to make more of a mess of his hair, it felt good.  
  
“No. Not even in my dreams.”  
  
He felt good. All of this felt real good. The serotonin rush of physical exercise, the perfect sound of Louis’s laughter echoing through the stadium... They had an entire football pitch to themselves, no one in the stands surrounding them, no worry of being found by paps, of the media hearing about this, of having security just off somewhere keeping an eye. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Maybe that’s why he didn’t really care to censor himself.  
  
“...Reckon I’d rather just be good enough. Don’t need to best you, just want to be a good match.”  
  
Louis’s fingers stopped, pulled away. He leaned up on one elbow, just enough that Harry could see his face more clearly but not slide off his stomach. With the beanie off, his hair was a beautiful mess sticking up in all directions with sweaty strands stuck to his forehead at the same time.

Harry wondered if the dream was making his eyes bluer too, reflecting the way they always looked to Harry anyway.  
  
Niall was right; Harry was definitely biased when it came to blue eyes.  
  
“What makes you think it’s not the other way round?”  
  
Harry shrugged, peering up at him.  
  
“Could be. Not in footie though. But I only know what I feel, can’t speak for you now can I?”  
  
Louis didn’t say anything, but he was studying Harry a bit too intently, brows furrowing. Harry couldn’t figure out the expression on his face, but he thought it was a bit too serious for what he’d just said. So he mimicked the look he saw on Louis’s face so often: he arched his eyebrow and gave him a half-smirk.  
  
“What? Tripped up by my deep and infinite wisdom?”  
  
It did the trick. Louis rolled his eyes and fell back onto both elbows, drawing up one leg with his bent knee towards the sky.  
  
“Twat.”  
  
“That would be a yes. Point for me then.” Harry could handle being called a twat by Louis any day of the week. That meant he’d won that round of verbal sparring and he was never one to say no to a win. It was one of the few hard and fast rules they had: automatic point for Harry every time Louis said twat. He couldn’t remember where it came from anymore, but Louis usually only did it on the rare occasions Harry caught him off guard or he secretly agreed with him, so it definitely counted.  
  
“You know, I don’t think my dreams have ever been this stable,” he added before Louis tried to take away said point on one technicality or another anyway.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean. I don’t really ever remember them. When I do, it’s just flashes of scenes that make no sense at all when I’m awake. Feelings that are still there when I wake up that don’t have a reason for being there. This isn’t like that. Feels more like a memory, you know?”  
  
“Mm.” Louis’s fingers were back in his hair again, but they were less purposeful this time, as though the movement was helping him to sort through his thoughts, understand what Harry was trying to say. “You really never remember your dreams?”  
  
Harry shook his head, carefully though, not wanting to dislodge Louis’s fingers.  
  
“Not these. I remember more of the ones I have when I’m dozing. Drifting half asleep with things going on around you?” He peered up for a moment at Louis to see if he was making any sense and at Louis’ small nudge of a nod, he continued, “The ones where you don’t mean to fall asleep but you end up think-dreaming what you were about to do, rather than really doing it, only to wake up and realize you haven’t moved.”  
  
“Like that time in the dressing room before show last tour? In uh-“ Louis tipped his head side to side and then shook it, laughing, “can’t fucking remember where we were. I remember the dressing room. Think it was Brighton? You were all out of sorts when you woke from that kip. Half expected you’d forget how to sing.”  
  
Harry remembered. Harry very much remembered. Boyce Avenue had just gone on to perform and the five of them were hanging around the dressing room in the space between being ready to go but not actually on yet. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa for a few minutes, stretched out with his legs over Zayn’s lap on one end, his head on Louis’s lap on the other end. He hadn’t even meant to fall asleep, just closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Louis’s fingers absent-mindedly playing with his hair while he was focused on his phone. Social media probably, because his thumb kept moving like he was endlessly scrolling.  
  
He’d closed his eyes because he’d already spent too much time staring at Louis’s thumb, his _thumb_ , and if he didn’t stare at his fingers he’d end up staring up at Louis’s face which, while it would have been completely fair to do considering he was filling most of his vision, would have been hard to explain. So he’d gazed up, once, at Louis’s eyes, his nose, his lips, then closed his eyes, letting himself just drift in the perfect moment of being with his best mates, waiting for another brilliant show, and having fingers playing with his hair.  
  
He’d never been good at keeping his thoughts from easily showing on his face, especially when he was looking at Louis. He knew it was something that the fans had picked up on too. It was half the reason he’d taken to controlling his thoughts about Louis, so they wouldn’t show on his face.  
  
Only half though. Because the other half of the reason was for the sake of his own sanity.  
  
His dozing dream hadn’t quite cared about his sanity before that show though. Like his brain had been nudged by the final thoughts he’d been thinking before he fell asleep, he’d dreamed of Louis waking him at the five-minute mark with a gentle tug to his hair, opening his eyes to find Louis hovering right over him, noses nearly touching, eyes as bright as his smile. Louis closed the distance between them and pressed the softest of kisses to his lips, warm and plush and everything Harry’d ever imagined his lips would feel like, smirking into it when the other lads noticed, catcalling and laughing and throwing things at the two of them and-  
  
-and then Louis had shifted, just a snuffle to clear his nose and fingers leaving Harry’s hair for just a second to scratch at his thigh behind Harry’s head.  
  
It was the sudden and complete crash of his heart from the sky-high bliss of love to the mud-caked trenches of reality, before he’d even opened his eyes, that had really left him reeling, so out of sorts that all the other lads had picked up on it. But he’d also been too out of sorts to even fully answer all of their concerned questions when they’d asked. Only the entertainer instinct in him had allowed him to snap out of it the second they made it on stage. Until then he’d been drifting in a weird dual-reality, slightly off-balance the whole time.  
  
Because he’d remembered every. single. moment. of that dream too. damn. clearly.  
  
Even now.  
  
It was long enough ago now though that he was much better at squashing down that daydreaming bliss before it had a chance to rocket him into the air. He did that now, mentally patted his little creature to calm it down and focused back on the blessing he did have, right here, right now.  
  
“Yea, like that. Just took me longer that time to fully wake up. That’s why I was so out of it.”  
  
“More out of it than usual, you mean,” Louis corrected, before he shrugged. “Well, I hope it was a good dream. You did say it was.” And then he smirked. Harry could hear the nudge for what it was and he grinned.  
  
“Any dream where you’re not waking me up to go on stage with ice or yelling in my ear is a good dream.”  
  
He supposed that was truth. He kept speaking though, preferring to distract Louis from asking what exactly the dream had been about. He’d managed to get through all their questions without ever telling them.  
  
“But yea, this is a bit like one of those, not like a sleep-sleep dream. I never remember those.” He closed his eyes, shifted his head on Louis' stomach like he wasn't so comfortable already. “Must be because you’re here. Must have something to do with the curse.”  
  
It felt weird saying that. Not about his dreams, no. But calling all of this a curse. He couldn’t imagine ever linking this particular moment with the word ‘curse’. Trying to reconcile the two ideas together was making his brain hurt, pulling his smile down into a bit of a grimace, the kind of grimace one makes exerting too much strength trying to pull two heavy objects together.  
  
“Curse or not, it’s still not real. Still just a dream, Haz.” The tinge of bitterness in Louis’s tone had Harry opening his eyes again, looking up at him. Louis was gazing up into the sky though.  
  
“So that makes it less important?”  
  
This may not be real, but it felt real enough. He suddenly wasn’t sure that the cost he and Louis had paid to get to this spot, in the middle of a dream pitch, had as big a price tag as he’d thought. He wasn’t ever going to give up this memory. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to cement it there, to commit to his mind Louis warm and moving and breathing beneath his head, fingers fiddling with his hair, the grass beneath him, somehow hard yet soft like a bed, Louis’s laughter filling the entire stadium.

Louis took a breath deep enough to make Harry's head rise and fall.  
  
“It is what it is. Just saying it’s not the same as a memory is all. I’m still just stuck here.”  
  
“Well,” Harry twisted halfway so he could look at Louis, rubbed Louis's bent leg with a knuckle until Louis's gaze fell back to him and then said, “think I’m going to treat it like one anyway. Why not.”  
  
Louis rewarded him with a raised eyebrow and slight smile.  
  
He stood up and offered a hand and the beanie to Louis.  
  
“You know, I think we should end all our matches like this.”  
  
Louis stared up at him from the ground, didn’t move.  
  
“With you falling over? We already do.”  
  
Harry laughed, shook the beanie as though it would entice him to take it and get up.  
  
“No, with both of us just falling over.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes but grabbed Harry’s hand and the beanie at the same time, allowing Harry to haul him to his feet.  
  
“We’ll see about that.”  
  
Harry just grinned and continued up the stairs of the stadium seats. In his peripheral Louis paused for a moment before catching up, shaking his head.  
  
“Not sure I’ll ever fucking get used to that.”  
  
“Hm?” Harry turned to face him.  
  
“The lack of actual physics in your mind,” Louis explained, waving a hand around them. “Bit disorienting when you’re not in on the secret.”  
  
Harry glanced back to the pitch halfway below them, as though it might clue him in to what had happened. Louis arched a brow at the confusion that must be written on his face and grinned.  
  
“Didn’t even notice we went from middle of the pitch to halfway up the stairs without actually walking, did you? You even remember running the distances or going to get the ball when we were playing?”  
  
Now that he thought about it...no. It surprised him. That must’ve showed up on his face too, because Louis was chuckling, shaking his head.  
  
“Exactly. Probably why your normal dreams don’t make much sense. S’like you just show up here or there. The...I don’t know...the in-between I guess, doesn’t matter to you.”  
  
“You think this only happens in my dreams?” Harry asked curiously.  
  
Louis shrugged, took the next eight steps two at a time until he hit one of the platforms, then paused and turned around to let Harry catch up, looking down at him.  
  
“Could. If you don’t notice it maybe I don’t in me own. But seeing as it’s not me own, I don’t really have a say in what your mind does. So I can’t follow it as easily.” He flicked at the jersey he was wearing, as though it were evidence. “You know I’d be wearing that jersey if this were my dream.”  
  
“But I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed of wearing the Donny Rovers,” Harry countered with a grin, taking the last couple of steps to meet Louis on the platform. Louis didn’t leave him much room, but he squeezed into the space at the edge, toe to toe and almost nose to nose because Louis didn’t back up to give him more space. He tugged Louis's jersey too. “So maybe you have more control than you realize.”  
  
“You think so?” Louis looked genuinely surprised by the idea, gaze sliding past Harry down to the now-empty pitch far below.  
  
Harry shrugged, picking at a blade of grass clinging to Louis’ shoulder.  
  
“Why not? We might be in my mind, but you’re not exactly just another piece that my mind dreamed up.”  
  
Louis pulled his gaze away from the pitch, head tipping to the side as he watched Harry picking at the grass that didn’t seem to want to come away.  
  
Harry definitely understood the feeling. But even with his gaze directly on the grass, all his mind focused on was Louis’s face. With Louis looking down Harry took in the curve of his jaw, the high ridge of his cheekbone, his mouth. Standing this close, he took in the startling clarity of Louis's features that all the party-goers in the last dream didn’t have. He finally flicked away the grass and reached up to straighten Louis's beanie and added, "You’re really here.”  
  
Louis met his eyes then, studying Harry silently as Harry tugged the beanie down over his ear and swept his fringe out of his eyes. His lips pulled slightly inwards the way they did whenever he was thinking.  
  
“So you reckon we didn’t end up here just because you fell asleep watching a match?”  
  
“Can’t be sure, can we?” Harry traced the curve of Louis's cheek then dropped his hand. He shrugged. “Where does what’s normal end and what’s magic take over? Reckon we’re both just figuring this all out as we go along.”  
  
“That sounds mildly like one of your terrible rom-coms, Hazza.” Louis tugged at the single curl that had fallen over Harry's forehead then tucked it behind his ear and smirked. Both actions seemed to be more out of habit than anything else, because Harry could see the gears still turning behind those quick blue eyes, as though what Harry said actually had merit.  
  
Harry certainly thought it did. Shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out again, he returned that smirk with a dimpled grin and a shrug.  
  
“Probably. I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense for us to assume anything in a place like this.”  
  
Louis's brows furrowed and he stepped back, pressing his palms to the end of the metal railing behind him that ran up the centre of the stairs. Leaning against his hands like that, at the small of his back, made him look like a king passing down a decree.  
  
“Well, if I do have some control in here, maybe those skills you suddenly discovered down there,” Louis nodded towards the pitch behind Harry, eyes back to twinkling with mischief, “had nothing to do with wanting to best me or just match me. You never had a chance anyway.”  
  
A laugh bubbled out of Harry and he jumped forwards, poked King Louis in the stomach to dispel that decree, then dodged around him and started up the stairs again.  
  
“Whatever you say, Lou.”  
  
He glanced behind and found Louis two steps below, looking up at him with a mixture of indignation and happiness on his face, trying and failing to hide a smile, eyes sparkling, actually sparkling (that must be the dream). Harry's feet stopped without his permission and for a moment he just...stayed. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember all of it. This moment and the obvious joy on Louis's face reminding him again of why he'd fought so hard for the past few years to make sure that the smiles never left Louis’s face. He wanted to remember-  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

-not the sharp pain in his neck or the lancing burning sensation shooting up his spine or the dead weight of his limbs all crushed together.  
  
Ow. Fuck fuck fuck.  
  
He groaned, didn’t dare move.  
  
“Look who’s awake.”  
  
“Hope you don’t mean me.” He didn’t open his eyes when he heard Liam’s casual declaration from somewhere nearby, the gravel of his voice so very different from how he’d sounded only seconds ago in the dream. “Not awake. I’m dying.”  
  
“I’d be too if I managed to actually fall asleep like that.” Zayn this time, from somewhere in the same direction that Liam’s voice came from. Close. “Surprised you even succeeded without Tommo stopping you.”  
  
“Distracted him,” Harry said on a moan, finally opening his eyes. He had the entire sofa to himself but was curled up in one tiny corner, his elbow doing a terrible job of supporting his neck on the arm of the sofa. He felt like a discarded toy that had been tossed away in a tantrum when playtime was cut short for bedtime. Expected he looked like one too. He started to nod towards the telly but that was a _bad_ idea. So he motioned with his free arm instead. “Footie match.”  
  
Next to Liam, who was perched on the arm, Zayn shifted forwards in the armchair that sat at a right angle closest to the side Harry was on, mildly impressed. But Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he found impressive, or why they looked like they’d been watching an animal sleeping through the glass at the zoo.  
  
“Looks to me like the distraction was less than worth it though,” Zayn commented idly.  
  
“No.” Harry actually laughed, even as he started to unwind all his joints and bones, feeling like Frankenstein’s monster in need of nothing short of a lightning strike to make him move again. He winced, working out the kinks in his neck. “Completely worth it.”  
  
Even the twin looks of utter confusion on their faces made this pain worth it. That was one of the best dreams he’d had in a long while, especially because he remembered every moment of it.  
  
_You sound surprised that dreaming of me would be the best thing to happen to you_ , Louis teased, speaking up for the first time. Harry was surprised he hadn’t said something sooner, which then made him wonder if this was the first thing Louis heard, or if he just chose not to speak until that moment.  
  
_Why, did I miss something?_ _  
_  
Harry cracked his upper back.  
  
“Figured you would have had plenty to say before that comment. Where were you?”  
  
_Just popped down to Poundland for some biscuits, obviously. Where else could I be?_ _  
_  
”Poundland?”  
  
_Location, Haz. Your mind isn’t exactly Bond Street._  
  
Harry rolled his eyes; he’d walked into that one. Either way, that answered his question. Another new piece of information. Maybe it was like the transitions that Louis was talking about in his dream, how the in-between didn’t matter. Maybe it wasn’t quite so instantaneous for Louis as it was for him. Maybe for Louis there was an in-between, one he didn’t apparently remember.  
  
“What? Oh.” Liam nodded, waving a hand at Harry before Harry could quip something back. “Morning, Tommo.”  
  
_Why yes. It is morning. Excellent assessment, Payno._ _  
_  
“He says morning back.”  
  
_Really, Haz? Really?_ _  
_  
“What. You do, don’t you?”  
  
_But that’s not what I said now is it._ _  
_  
Something about Louis tone, short and clipped, made Harry pause, so he looked at Liam and repeated what Louis had said, word for word this time.  
  
Liam chuckled, shook his head.  
  
“Glad some things haven’t changed in all this.”  
  
“You lot just going to stand around someplace normal all day and leave me by me lonesome?” Niall called from down the hallway. They looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe of Louis’s bedroom, tapping his fingers against his bicep, arms crossed. “Been up since 6 watching Tommo here do absobloodylutely nothing you know. Not the easiest job in the world.”  
  
_Definitely the easiest fucking job in the world. Just try watching me on tour, Nialler. I dare you._ _  
_  
“Well someone’s going to have to stay in there,” Zayn called back, not making a single move to get up from the armchair. “And if it’s you, you can treat Tommo to a personal acoustic concert of our best hits.”  
  
“Very funny, Malik. How ‘bout I treat you to some best hits with an acoustic to the noggin?”  
  
The words had none of the effect Niall was going for because he was grinning too big. Good. Harry quite liked his guitar and preferred it to remain in one piece.  
  
“We could bring him out here.”  
  
Three heads turned to face him when he said that and once again Harry had the distinct feeling they were waiting for a punchline, like the moment he’d told them Louis was in his head. Which made no sense. He was certain this hadn’t been a joke. Not that that had been a joke either. Had he put a joke in his tone?  
  
“And how do you propose we do that?” Liam finally said when Harry didn’t supply the rest of the joke as apparently he was supposed to?  
  
And they said he made no sense.  
  
“We’ll just carry him out here.”  
  
_You are_ ** _not_** _carrying me out here._ _  
_  
“Why not? I’ve carried you before.”  
  
_Obviously nothing’s going to happen. Just leave me there._ _  
_  
“It’s a bit different when Tommo’s clinging to your back like a bloody monkey, Haz,” Liam pointed out.  
  
“So? You think I can’t do it? I carried him when Simon put us in the band too, you know.”  
  
His heart leapt up and pranced around his chest just at the memory of that moment. His mind hadn’t quite processed what Simon had said before he’d had an armful of Louis, that pulse of energy flaring through him warm and so solid, arms around his neck and legs around his waist so that the moment he actually _did_ process the ‘you’re a band’, it was with Louis in his arms, Louis filling up all five senses as Harry spun them both and held onto him so tightly, so easily, because they fit together so easily.  
  
Ever since that day his mind always put two and two together, until it felt like what Simon had really been saying was he could have his best mate, he could keep Louis.  
  
“For a grand total of ten seconds at most.” Liam huffed, looking pointedly at Harry and breaking him right out of that daydream memory.  
  
Best ten- no. He stopped himself right there, blinked to fully bring himself back to what Liam was saying, which was: “Alright, let me rephrase then. Bit different now when Tommo’s not clinging to your front like a bloody monkey.”  
  
_Honestly, Payno, have you learned nothing about the animal kingdom? What about koalas or geckos or_ _lemurs or-_ _  
_  
“Missing the point, Lou.”  
  
_His lack of imaginative insults is exactly the point. Obviously you’re not going to actually be carrying me_ _like some-._ _  
_  
“Like some what?” Harry cut in, lips curving up into a grin. He crossed his arms over his chest, slyly asking, “Like some sleeping beauty?”  
  
_Changed me mind. You’re never going to learn to use those balls of yours. I’m cutting them off. And last I checked sleeping beauty wasn’t fucking moved._  
  
Harry burst out laughing at that and stood up, paying special tender care and attention to his back, hands pressing into the base of his spine as he worked his hips in slow circles until the pain calmed down from ‘ow fuck ow’ to ‘alright this is manageable.’  
  
“So she pricked her finger on a spinning wheel - which normally isn’t magic, mind you - then fell over - which normally doesn’t happen, mind you - and everyone who found her just left her there? Sounds about fucking right if she was as annoying as you.”  
  
All this talk like Harry wouldn’t be able to actually do it meant only one thing: he absolutely needed to prove he could do it.  
  
He started towards Louis’s bedroom where Niall was watching the one-sided exchange curiously from the doorway, though judging from his devious grin, Harry had a feeling he was guessing quite accurately what Louis’ side sounded like.  
  
_I will not stop laughing when you fall over. And I hope I land on you when you do and crush your fucking balls._  
  
“You don’t weigh enough to crush those,” Harry grinned, just as Niall came up next to him at Louis’ side, “they’re big, remember?”  
  
“You’re really going to try this?” Zayn asked from the doorway where he and Liam were stood, having followed Harry in, before Louis could respond. Harry didn’t mind winning that round. And he definitely won that round.  
  
“Reckon I can handle carrying my own body weight halfway across the flat. Reckon we all can.” It was true. Louis really couldn’t weigh much more or less than he did. They were basically the same height - Harry only had a couple inches or so at the most on Louis really - but they were still the same build, shared the same clothes. How hard could it be?  
  
_Same build me arse._ _  
_  
“S’pose you’re right there.” It was patently untrue, what Louis said, and Harry knew Louis was just saying it to be contrary, but Harry tipped his head to the side as though thinking that through anyway, before saying, “you do have a bigger arse. And are a bigger arse too.”  
  
_Again with the insulting or objectifying. Pick a side, you tit. No points._ _  
_  
Something about that niggled at the back of Harry’s mind, but it fell away before he could grasp it, like trying to remember bits and pieces of his dreams only to have them slide further away the more he chased them. He shrugged it off.  
  
Focusing back on where he was stood now, Harry crossed his right arm over his chest so he could brace his left elbow on top of it, chin propped up in his hand as he studied Louis’ sleeping form, trying to decide the best way to do this. Louis was still lying on his side, just as Harry had left him last night after putting the pullover and beanie on him, still tucked under the duvet so most of his body was hidden.  
  
He’d never tried this before, true, but under the shoulders and knees seemed to be the best bet given Louis’s position. He _should_ throw him over his shoulder like some massive bag of Yorkshire tea, but that would be harder to do.  
  
He thought.  
  
He wasn’t actually sure.  
  
Either way he wasn’t going to test it.  
  
Louis was not about to win by correctly guessing the outcome. Harry had too much pride to allow that.  
  
So he rolled Louis onto his back, pulled the duvet off and set Louis’s left hand on his stomach so it was out of the way.  
  
Even with the beanie and jumper and the duvet, Louis’s fingers were far too icy for Harry’s liking, icier even. And that, if nothing else, solidified his resolve to do this, no matter how much Louis screamed bloody murder at him. Or in him.  
  
“If you try anything I will drop you,” he warned out loud. Better to prepare for that outcome just in case, right? Then Louis couldn’t claim points for being right. He said the words out loud only partly for the benefit of the other three, who were watching this unfolding scene warily, as though fully expecting that the moment Harry tried to pick Louis up, Louis would flail and send them all to early graves from heart attacks. Harry didn’t put that past Louis either. Maybe that’s where the warning came from.  
  
_No you won’t._ _  
_  
Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously when Louis suddenly switched sides. No matter.  
  
“Yes, I absolutely will.”  
  
_You drop me it’ll be because you shouldn’t fucking pick me up in the first place._ _  
_  
Alright, they were stalling. Before he could think himself out of it, Harry bent down and slid his arms beneath Louis’ shoulders and his knees, pulled him to the edge of the bed, then hefted him up into his arms.  
  
Alright, so just because he _could_ carry his body weight didn’t mean his body was _used_ to carrying his body weight with just his arms. Good to know.  
  
Liam was right too: this was very different without any help from Louis. A dead weight in Harry’s hold, Louis's right arm was hanging as limp as his head and Harry really did _not_ want to think about that anymore.  
  
He also probably should have used his legs more than his back to do this too. With a bit of jostling and careful bouncing, he shifted Louis until he was a little more curled up and Harry had his weight more centred and balanced against his chest. That helped to alleviate some of the burning he could already feel in his arms. He tightened his core and had to focus on not automatically leaning back a bit, because that would _not_ work. He swore to himself right then that he’d become a regular at the gym, that this was going to be the last time he had this much trouble.  
  
_This_ ** _is_** _the last time you carry me, you tit. If you think I’m going to forget this-_ _  
_  
Niall stole Harry’s attention before he could respond to that. He set Louis’s dangling right arm up on his stomach next to his left and then carefully lifted his head up to tuck him against Harry’s shoulder so Louis's forehead pressed against Harry’s neck and there was absolutely no way he’d slip off.  
  
And also absolutely no way the hair falling out of his beanie over his right eye didn’t really seriously tickle.  
  
Like really tickle. Really seriously seriously tickle. Shit.  
  
Balance-wise the position definitely helped, but Harry couldn’t help bunching his shoulder and moving his head a bit in an attempt to make the tickling stop by pressing Louis closer or further or something he wasn’t quite s-...  
  
Zayn’s eyebrow arched and Harry realized it must look a lot more like nuzzling than anything else. He quickly looked back to Niall, furiously trying to stifle the flush in his cheeks before it could show up and they noticed. He did _not_ need them to comment and alert Louis to something he couldn’t see.  
  
“What was that for?” he asked in a last ditch attempt to draw attention away from himself.  
  
Niall paused, glanced up and realized that even though Harry was the one to ask, he wasn’t the only one watching curiously. Niall shrugged, shared another look with Zayn and Liam, then crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
“What? He looks more ah...asleep like this.”  
  
Harry glanced down at what he could see of Louis’s relaxed face now half-hidden beneath his chin, at his hands resting on his stomach and yea, Niall was right. Louis did just look like he was...sleeping. And far too innocent. Harry could believe the first, if he weren’t so cold that Harry could actually feel the chill of his body seeping through the two layers between them.  
  
He’d never believe Louis was innocent though. He knew ten times over that Louis was anything but.  
  
It took everything in him not to actually hug Louis closer in an attempt to make him warmer and _that_ effort had him looking up at Zayn again before he could think to stop himself, to see if he was still watching, to see if he’d accidentally let anything show on his face that he’d just barely managed to keep out of his thoughts.  
  
Of course Zayn was watching, his expression a cross between curious and concerned, lips purposely pressed together. Brilliant.  
  
“Think you could clear me a path?” Better to distract Zayn right now than anything else. Zayn just nodded, bending down to scoop up the clothes scattered all over Louis’s floor and shove them in one massive heap in the centre of Louis’s walk-in before closing the door on the pile.  
  
Harry nodded his thanks, braced himself, inhaled, locked his arms in place around Louis and took two steps away from the bed.  
  
_HARRY!_  
  
The obnoxious shout, the first shout after Louis became as loud as he was in his head now, erupted through Harry's brain. He leapt at least a foot into the air, almost tumbled, barely caught his balance, definitely let out some sort of startled yelp-scream thing that his heart lodging up in his throat strangled off half-way.  
  
He also scared the other three, Niall had a fiercely tight grip on his back and shoulder, Liam wide-eyed and Zayn frozen next to him.  
  
“Jesus fuck, Lou! What was that for?!” He was still shoving his heart back down off his vocal chords so the shout didn’t have nearly as much power behind it as he really fucking wanted it to. Not that he thought Louis was listening anyway. His raucous laughter was echoing through Harry’s skull.  
  
_Sorry, Haz, had no choice. Had to call you on your fucking bluff._ _  
_  
“What blu-“  
  
His brain caught up.  
  
For all the slipping and nearly falling on his arse that he’d just done, rather than dropping Louis as he’d promised, his arms had instinctively tightened around him, clutching him somehow even closer than he was before.  
  
He shook his head, heartbeat finally starting to come back to a normal rhythm. His arms then reminded him that they were burning. He nodded Niall to show that he wasn’t about to fall over.  
  
“I got him.”  
  
Niall only slowly released his grip, as though expecting a repeat the moment he did.  
  
Harry nodded his thanks, strode towards the door as quickly as double his body weight and a shifted centre of gravity would allow and huffed. Of course Louis had managed to turn this into a win no matter what.  
  
“You’re a right arse sometimes, you know that?”  
  
_You’re the one who needs constant reminding of that, mate, not me._ _  
_  
He sounded so smug.  
  
“Couldn’t just make this easy, could you.”  
  
_It’s my civic fucking duty to not make anything easy for you. Especially when you’re bloody carrying me._ _  
_  
“Isn’t that the truth,” Harry muttered, reaching the sofa where Liam was quick to shift the pillows and pull the blankets out of the way so Harry could carefully lay Louis down so he was half-upright, leaned back against several pillows and the arm of the sofa. So he looked like he was simply enjoying a kip in the middle of the morning. Nothing more than that.  
  
He pulled the blankets up around Louis, touched the backs of his fingers to his cheek again to check.  
  
Liam noticed, standing as close as he was.  
  
“He still cold?”  
  
“Colder I think,” Harry breathed out on a sigh, shaking his head. “Not so sure it’s because of something normal anymore.”  
  
“What, like it’s part of the curse?” Niall asked, flopping down in the armchair opposite the one Zayn had been sitting in earlier, the one that was sat at a right angle to Louis’ side of the sofa. He must’ve seen the worry crossing Liam’s face too because he was quick to add, lightly, “Tommo, only you would manage not only to find a mage but also get a curse that doesn’t put you into some sort of fucking magical time-out.”  
  
_Does it matter? Can’t fucking feel it anyway._ _  
_  
“Maybe there’s a reason for that though. Maybe that’s part of how we fix him.” Zayn came to perch on the back of the sofa, completing their little circle with Louis in the middle.  
  
_Way to make it sound like I’m fucking broken, Zayn. Wanker._ _  
_  
“Uh. You kind of are?” At their looks, Harry repeated what Louis had said.  
  
Without the wanker bit.  
  
“You look pretty bloody broken to me, Tommo,” Niall pointed out, pulling one of Louis’s wrists out from the blankets and holding it between his thumb and first finger, like a child picking up a worm from the back garden for the first time. He held it up and then released it, watched it flop back down on Louis’s chest, then did it again for good measure.  
  
_Right. Because you lot all have full control of your limbs when you’re sleeping._ _  
_  
“He’s disagreeing with your scientific experiment there, Nialler.” Harry paused a moment and then repeated what Louis said too, before Louis could have a paddy over it.  
  
“Hey, all you have to do is tell us to our faces that you’re not broken and we’ll believe you, mate.” Liam held up a hand as though he were about to swear on a Bible, magnanimous. “Promise.”  
  
_I just did, Payno. Not that anyone ever fucking believes me when I say anything._ _  
_  
“Think he means not through me,” Harry supplied, even though he knew Louis knew exactly what Liam meant.  
  
“How about we try and figure out where to go from here?” Zayn eased in to the conversation, looking between Louis and the others. “And maybe have some food while we’re at it?”  
  
“It is almost 11,” Niall agreed, pulling out his phone to check the time. “Which means I’m about five hours overdue for some nosh.”  
  
_You’re bloody overdue 24 hours a day._ _  
_  
Harry relayed that to Niall and Niall leaned down, clapped a hand to Louis’ shoulder.  
  
“Exactly, mate. Exactly.”

*

“So that bartender you met was right. There are some stories out there of other people who went through this,” Liam said in between bites of the scrambled eggs Harry had made.  
  
Harry had once again made them all an actual breakfast, but they’d decided to eat out in the living room by Louis with Zayn and Liam in the armchairs, Harry on the sofa in the other corner from Louis, and Niall sitting on the floor facing the sofa, his plate on the coffee table.  
  
“But?” Harry glanced between his three awake band mates and settled on Liam. “I can hear a but. What is it?”  
  
“Well, that’s just it. That _is_ it.” Niall finished off his last bite and set his fork down, pushed his empty plate away from the edge and leaned back on his palms. “They say they were cursed, say they went through it, all the exact same stuff that’s happening to Tommo with the out o’bloody body experience and all, but none of them say anything about how they broke it.”  
  
Harry forgot he was eating.  
  
“Wait. Nothing? None of them?”  
  
“Not a one,” Zayn said, shaking his head. “They all read like personal pick-me-ups, like a ‘don’t worry you can do this’. And they were all anonymous too. Probably because the amount of hate comments from people angry that they’d found a mage and been picked was intense. So we have no way of actually talking to someone.”  
  
_Yea, because what I obviously need right now is a bloody Cursed Anonymous support group._ _  
_  
“We definitely can’t let anyone find out about this,” Liam added, almost over top of Louis’s comment, looking too serious once again. “Not even management. Didn’t realize there was so much hate out there for people who’ve been cursed. No wonder they all stayed anonymous. We’re really fucking lucky you blurted it out to someone last night who isn’t one of them, Haz.”  
  
_Well isn’t that just bloody perfect._ _  
_  
Really fucking perfect indeed. Shit, they’d given that girl their names and showed her a picture of Louis too. No wonder she’d been so secretive about it all.  
  
“We’ll figure this out before tomorrow and no one will be any wiser to it,” Niall said easily, after Harry had a chance to relay Louis’s words, since there had been a momentary silence after Liam’s statement. “We hide enough shite as it is already, don’t we, lads? Nothing we don’t have practice doing. What’s one more for the list.”  
  
“They do all say the same thing that Cassie girl told us though,” Zayn continued after they’d all had a chance to take in Niall’s words, complete with his casual tone that they all needed right now.  
  
Harry didn’t exactly need a reminder of how good they were at hiding things though.  
  
Bird shit. It was all just bird shit. Zayn tapped at the paper on the coffee table next to his plate with the pen he held, focusing on Harry.  
  
“Breaking it didn’t happen until they remembered it. He has to be the one to remember." His tapping paused. "Er, you’ve got to remember, Louis.”  
  
“Did they say how they remembered?” Harry asked cautiously, repeating a question that he had and Louis had asked at the same time.  
  
Zayn sighed, glanced at Louis lying still next to Harry and then back to Harry.

“When they got their bodies back.”  
  
Louis erupted into a series of curses loud enough that Harry actually winced, squinting one eye closed and rubbing at his temple as though that would actually help. It didn’t, of course, but that pain was nothing compared to his sweet creature burrowing into the back of his rib cage hard enough to hurt.  
  
“So it’s like a catch-22.” They’d obviously already talked about this, if Liam’s tone was anything to go by. Probably last night when Zayn told Harry to get some sleep. Liam held up both hands, palms upwards, like he was balancing scales. “You have to get your body back in order to remember how to get your body back.”  
  
“And there’s not much we can do,” Niall added with a shrug, motioning to the three of them. It wasn’t a shrug of indifference. He looked genuinely upset that they couldn’t do more to find the ‘magical water’ to clean the ‘magical bird shit’. “Except help you, Harry.”  
  
“Me? Wait. Don’t answer that.” Harry set his plate down on the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa, lifting Louis’s blanket-covered feet so he had more room to actually sit down. He plopped them on his lap, rubbed his hands over his face, took a moment to block out the light and think.  
  
It made sense. After all, he was very much a part of Louis’s curse too. Whether Louis had consciously chosen him or not, he still had his best mate stuck in his head.  
  
As though to prove that thought, Louis chose that moment to chuckle.  
  
_You got it, Hazza. You’re my chosen one. Ooooh._ _  
_  
“Not sure how I feel about that,” he mumbled, quietly enough that the others really couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t help sounding just a little put out, because his heart wilted at the particular joke before his mind could fully process why. The other three must’ve seen him slump a bit, curve in on himself though.  
  
“They all said it was their-“ Zayn paused, tried to come up with a word, staring too intently at Harry again, lips touching down just the barest in what looked like pity, “-their person, the one who could hear them, that helped them get their body back.”  
  
“So, I need to get Lou his body back so he can remember so he can get his body back.”  
  
_This is fucking mental._ _  
_  
“This is fucking mental.”  
  
“Yea, I know, Tommo,” Niall said without missing a beat, even though the words had come from Harry’s mouth. Of all of them, Niall was the least tripped up in figuring out how to talk to Louis when he was there but not there. “But that’s all we got.”  
  
“Have you remembered anything from the club yet?” Zayn dragged his gaze from Louis’s body to Harry. “Anything at all?”  
  
Harry didn’t need to wait for Louis to answer, just shook his head. He rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa, head on his palm, letting the other fall to rest on Louis’s ankles, grateful for the comfort of the physical touch, even if through a blanket. Louis's feet smelled too rank without the blanket though. He deliberately looked down so Louis could see it, hoping maybe seeing it would at least give him the comfort of seeing something so normal even if he couldn’t feel it.  
  
“Maybe we should try some spiritual shite.” Niall turned and crawled to the telly on hands and knees, reaching for the X-Box and two controllers. Twisting back to face them, he sat on his bum, worked on untangling the cords. “You know, hypnotism or meditation or some shite like that.”  
  
“What, on Harry?” Liam questioned, taking the controller that Niall handed to him. “Don’t think we’d have much luck trying that on Tommo right now.”  
  
“Well it’s like the whole ‘clear your mind’ thing, yea?” Niall turned the telly on and set up FIFA for two players, sitting back against the coffee table again. Just before the game started he twisted to look at Harry. “Just don’t think about it, Tommo. Like how all the famous writers get ideas in the shower, you know? When they’re not thinking about it.”  
  
_Sure. I’ll just pop on and have a shower now, yea?_ _  
_  
Niall must’ve caught the grimace on Harry’s face, because his smile was half a grimace out of empathy.  
  
“I know, Tommo. But, it’s what we’ve got right now.”  
  
He had no idea what Louis had said, but Harry had to admit he was impressed at how close Niall kept getting to what Louis was actually saying. Niall turned back to the game and they all fell silent, just watching Niall and Liam battling it out.  
  
“So Liam said you dreamed about his flat last night?” Zayn asked, leaning on the arm of the armchair closest to Harry, eyes half on the screen. He was slowly tapping the back of the pen against the cushion.  
  
Harry kept his eyes resolutely on the screen, knowing that the least he could do for Louis right now was make sure he had an uninterrupted view of the match.  
  
“Mm.” He smiled faintly. “My mind gave him a pretty posh place, actually. Penthouse and fire pit in the middle of London.”  
  
Zayn chuckled.  
  
“Yea, he told me that too. What happened?”  
  
Absolutely nothing that he wanted to talk about. Absolutely nothing that he wanted to remember. And he wasn’t sure if Louis’ silence was because he was giving Niall’s advice a go or if he felt the same way.  
  
Actually, he didn’t even need to ask. Louis definitely felt the same way.  
  
Harry rubbed two fingers over his lips.  
  
“Not much. We drank, didn’t feel it of course, talked. What else do you do at a party?”  
  
He saw Zayn giving him a raised eyebrow out of the corner of his vision.  
  
“Dance? Play drinking games? Make as much noise as possible if you’re Tommo?”  
  
Oh how differently that dream could have gone. His mind strayed into dangerous territory almost immediately, imagining louder music, the beat thrumming through them, Louis holding up the shot glass above his head as he danced instead of knocking the alcohol back, half-blissed on the way to drunk as they danced together. But the scene then morphed right back to the club, to Louis’s body pressed against his own on a very real dance floor, searing into him, so warm, so incredibly warm and-  
  
His hand tightened on Louis’s ankle and the cold seeping through the blanket shocked him out of the moment before he even needed to use his word.  
  
“Didn’t have time. Liam woke me up before we could.”  
  
“Mm.” Zayn looked back to the game when Niall shouted out as he scored.  
  
_Enjoy your rise to greatness while it lasts, Nialler._ _  
_  
Harry smiled, relayed that to Niall.  
  
Niall turned, still grinning, let Louis’s words roll right off of him. Harry sometimes thought that Niall actually enjoyed being the object of Louis’s challenges. Then again, it made sense, in a way. Any challenge from Louis did mean that he thought you a worthy opponent.  
  
“Can’t wait for it, Tommo.” He turned back to the game to see if Liam had started the next match yet but when he saw he still had a few seconds, twisted back around to look at Harry. “Remembered anything yet?”  
  
When Harry just shook his head, Niall wrinkled his nose and said, as he was turning back to start the next match, “Keep trying, Tommo. You’ll do it. You always do.”  
  
“Well, least until then you get to mess with Haz in his dreams,” Liam commented.  
  
Harry groaned at that, wishing he had something close enough to throw at Liam.  
  
“Don’t give him any ideas, you prat.”  
  
_You really think I need help with ideas? S’like you don’t know me at all, Hazza._ _  
_  
“I know you plenty well enough,” Harry grumbled. “Well enough to know you’re probably planning something.”  
  
_I’m always planning something._ _  
_  
“I’m not sleeping tonight.”  
  
“You can’t _stop_ yourself from sleeping,” Zayn pointed out, giving Harry a sideways glance. “Not like we’d let you stay awake anyway.”  
  
_See? Told you he likes me more._ _  
_  
“I’m going to draw dicks all over your face when they’re asleep.” Harry was going to hold through with that threat this time, no matter how sing-songy Louis’s answer was.  
  
_Not if you’re asleep first._


	9. Chapter 9

“You know, Tommo showed up in my dreams once,” Niall mused about ten minutes later, plunging his hand back into the bag of Walkers he’d pilfered from the kitchen without looking away from the FIFA match Zayn and Liam were now playing. He’d taken a break after his second win to refill his stomach fuel like he hadn’t just had a full breakfast twenty minutes ago and was now in the process of fitting a huge crisp in his mouth.  
  
Zayn spared half a glance to the side, refusing to throw the match he was currently winning by getting too distracted.  
  
“This the same dream you had where there was no food left?”  
  
“Jesus fuck, no. That was a bloody nightmare.” Niall shuddered and clutched the bag of crisps to his chest. “Shouldn’t bring that up, Zayn. Bad luck. Don’t want the world getting any fucking ideas.”  
  
Zayn snorted, looked back to the game.  
  
“So what happened then?” Harry asked. There was no way this wouldn’t be good.  
  
_Any dream with me in it is fucking good._ _  
  
”You and I have very different definitions of good.”  
_  
“Do we even want to know what happened?” Liam said, eyes also focused on the telly. He smacked at the controller keys and somehow that allowed him to steal the ball from Zayn.  
  
“Bastard,” Zayn muttered, then added, “We absolutely want to know what happened.”  
  
“Mm,” Niall said around his finger once he’d swallowed another crisp, licking the salt off the pad of his thumb. “Can’t say much actually happened. Was months ago anyway.” He glanced over at Harry and then clapped a hand to Louis’ shoulder where he was lying between them. “You were there, Tommo, but for some reason you’d decided to grow your hair out, yea? Was down to your fucking shoulders. And that scruff you got going on?” He wiggled his fingers around his own nose and mouth, “Well you’d somehow given yourself a full-on fucking beard, just as long as your hair. And you had so much fucking hair and even with all that hair _still_ not a single curl in it and I kept thinking you looked like some sort of Donny Jesus who’d grown up in a bloody cult and had just been set free.” He popped another crisp in his mouth, adding with his mouth full, “Was fucking wild, mate.”  
  
As if the description weren’t enough, it only took a single second for all of them to try and picture a Louis ‘Donny Jesus’ Tomlinson and they were all done.  
  
Zayn and Liam both ended up forfeiting the match, laughing so hard that Liam dropped his controller and Zayn’s fingers spazzed over the buttons when he fell over sideways on the floor, doubled over. And if Louis’s voice wasn’t so loud in his head, Harry probably wouldn’t have heard him over his own laughter.  
  
_Niall, mate, buddy, pal...listen. It’s alright. You don’t have to hide anymore. Just tell us what the bloody_ _fuck happened to you and we can find you the help you need._ _  
_  
“What...what the fuck, Niall?” Liam gasped, swiping his thumb beneath an eye he was laughing so hard. Harry just started a fresh round of laughter at what Louis said and it was to Harry that Niall turned, eyes shining.  
  
“What’d he say, Haz? Did I just give away all his fucking hopes and dreams?”  
  
“No. Fuck, Niall-" Harry had to control his laughter enough to actually repeat what Louis said and when he did, Niall’s laughter was just as boisterous as the rest of theirs.  
  
“I knew it. I’ve just told his deepest fucking desire. Sorry, Tommo.”  
  
He was very clearly not sorry in the slightest.  
  
“All I’m saying,” Niall dug into the bag of crisps while the rest of them calmed down, then pulled his hand out to peer inside, “is that in my dreams you were definitely my mind trying to tell me something. But if _you_ as you are right now, were with Harry in his, then you must’ve been more than just a fucking part of the dream, you know?”  
  
Actually no, no Harry didn’t know. And looking at the other two, they didn’t get it either. But naturally it was Louis who had something to say first.  
  
_You’re making less sense than Haz right now._ _  
_  
Niall huffed and tipped the bag over his mouth, catching the remaining crumbs. He tossed it aside and leaned over to poke at Louis’ shoulder. Louis didn’t feel it, but Harry tracked the movement so he saw it.  
  
“Well what happened? I heard you two had a fucking party at Payno’s without us. And aren’t dreams meant to be subconscious?”  
  
“Yes...” Zayn this time, nodding slowly.  
  
“So...” Niall mimicked Zayn’s tone, paused, then when no one finished for him he rolled his eyes. “Really, lads? Dreams are our brains talking to us. Well just because Tommo doesn’t remember what happened doesn’t mean the memory isn’t there.”  
  
“The memory is there. That’s part of the curse, to remember.” Harry was starting to get it. And Niall looked about to give him a biscuit as though food were a worthy first prize. But he’d have to find biscuits first. Or at least go get them from the cupboard. And then he actually doubted Niall would want to share. End of the world and no food left and all.  
  
“Exactly.” Niall clapped his hands together, leaned forwards in the armchair and stared at Harry. “So think. Maybe something in the dreams was a clue.”  
  
_You’re assuming I have any control at all over any of this._ _  
_  
Niall’s eyebrow shot up at that when Harry said it.  
  
“You’re assuming you have no control at all over any of this.” He focused on Harry then. Or at least, Harry only knew he was talking to him because Niall made that quite clear. “Maybe you should have a shower, Haz. Maybe it’ll help Tommo remember something. If nothing else you’ll stop smelling quite so bloody ripe.”  
  
“Hey.” That wasn't him. That was Louis's feet.  
  
But Niall just flashed him a too-placating smile, so Harry sighed, shaking his head. He’d showered yesterday at Liam’s and done nothing all day so far. He definitely wasn’t that bad.  
  
“I wish I could have a shower right now,” he admitted.  
  
Liam bent down to grab the controller he’d dropped and turned in the other armchair so he was facing Harry rather than the telly, setting it on his stomach.  
  
“You say that like you can’t.”  
  
_I’d like it to be known that my curse has nothing to do with Harry’s sudden inability to wash._ _  
_  
Well Louis obviously wanted that said, so he said it first, then added his own words to Niall.  
  
“More that I don’t think it’ll be quite as relaxing as you’re thinking it’ll be.”  
  
The moment Niall snickered and Liam and Zayn shared a look Harry knew he should have thought that through before he said it. And the suspicious silence from Louis, Harry somehow just _knew_ was him sat back (figuratively) and happily watching Harry toss himself overboard without any help at all.  
  
What was it Louis had said yesterday? The shit he thinks always comes out his mouth?  
  
_And you thought I was just taking the piss with that? Oh Hazza._ His voice dripped, _dripped_ with pity.  
  
“There are other ways to release tension, Haz.” Niall kept snickering right through that sentence. Arse.  
  
“Like a good old, mm, rub down, with soap and water,” Liam added. Also arse.  
  
“And don’t forget, deep breaths.” Might as well make it three, thanks, Zayn. Also also arse.  
  
How had it taken him this long to realize that Simon had put him in a band with four arses?  
  
_And yet that was still the best bloody thing to ever happen to you. So what does that say about you?_ _  
_  
Louis counted as at least three arses on the arse-scale. ‘At least’ being the important part of that fact. Yes, fact.  
  
_Finally picked a side, eh? Still no points though._ _  
_  
_”What? Why?”_ _  
_  
_Unoriginality now._ _  
_  
Harry rolled his eyes and groaned, flopping sideways so he ended up wedged between the back of the sofa and Louis’s body, somewhere around his middle. He deliberately burrowed further down, using Louis to shield himself.  
  
_”I’m taking that point based on the simple truth that you are, in fact, an arse.”_ _  
_  
But out loud he said, not caring if his words were completely muffled, “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of this.”  
  
Fingers wedged between his face and Louis’s body, curving around Louis’s hip and pulling his body back enough to uncover Harry from his hideaway. Niall’s face was right in front of him, bent mostly down to his level. And could he possibly be smiling any bigger? Probably, knowing Niall.  
  
“You deserve _all_ of this.”  
  
Bloody leprechauns.

*

So have a shower it was.  
  
He’d already stripped off all his clothes by the time he made it through his bedroom into his own bathroom. Immediately, he slid the cabinet open so the mirror wasn’t in front of him and turned the shower on, letting the tap warm up.  
  
_Why won’t you look in the mirror?_ _  
_  
“You mean since you called me a drowned frog yesterday?”  
  
_Is that really why?_ _  
_  
Now that he thought about it, no. He didn’t quite know why he refused to look in the mirror.  
  
_Don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time with you without seeing your face before_.

Louis's tone was light, idle, like he was filling the space where Harry’s words should have been, like maybe they’d spark his answer.  
  
It didn’t. It certainly made his heart thump, just once, though. He leaned his palms on the edge of the sink, closed his eyes.  
  
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled. Because yea, they were in the same boat with that, weren’t they?  
  
_Will you?_ _  
_  
He looked up into the array bottles, of shave cream and toothpaste, toothbrushes and medicines and lotions and his emergency inhaler.  
  
“Will I what?”  
  
_Look in the mirror._ _  
_  
Louis said that too casually too; he was instantly suspicious.  
  
“Why?”  
  
_Does that matter?_ _  
_  
“Of course it does. I don’t trust you.” He didn’t, even if the joke was there in his voice.  
  
_Fine. Tit._

Louis huffed _._

 _...Because I’ve spent more time staring at meself today in ways I’m not used to seeing and I’d rather fucking see something I’m used to seeing. Happy?_ _  
_  
His lips twisted with his heart as he thought that answer through, tried to uncover any prank beneath it, but couldn’t.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
He took a breath, slid the cabinet closed and looked in the mirror.  
  
He didn’t look any different; there were no visible signs that Louis was in his head, nothing on his face that was _Louis_. He wasn’t sure if he’d been hoping for or expecting some sort of sign, but then, the lads would have told them if there were. Still didn’t stop the disappointment he felt though, like having something there would prove that Louis was there, really there.  
  
No, all he saw were the lingering signs of a hangover, eyes tired and hair in disarray and-  
  
_I take it back. Feel like I’m on some weird fucking acid trip. You can stop now._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled, a little tiredly, but because of the slight strain he heard in Louis’s voice, he turned away without complaint and tested the water before stepping into the shower.  
  
The water was nothing short of blissful. He ducked his head beneath the spray, wetting his curls down flat to his head, just standing, just letting the perfect warmth of the water massage his muscles. With everything that had happened in the past day and a half, his muscles had tensed up and locked in place in such a way that he hadn’t noticed until the water started to loosen them back up again.  
  
In his head, Louis let out a cross between a moan and a sigh.  
  
_Can’t wait to have meself one of these._ _  
_  
Harry opened his eyes and looked back up only to drop his head back on his shoulders so the spray hit his chest.  
  
“That what you’re going to do first? When you wake up?”  
  
_Can’t say. Maybe._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled, muscles going a little more languid in the steam.  
  
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about what you’ll do when you have your body back.”  
  
_Wank. I’m gonna have a bloody nice long wank._ _  
_  
And then Louis moaned. And it could have been the type of contented sound he made when he got a good stretch in, but that’s very much not how it sounded. No, it sounded more like he was dreaming about that moment and to Harry’s brain it sounded a little bit ...more. More. Just more.  
  
And just like the first time Louis had brought it up, Harry’s mind immediately filled in the gap. Louis lying in bed filled his vision, blue eyes closed, lips parted, shiny and wet from licking them, chest flushed and hand disappearing into the front of his pyjamas, taking his time, slow, fingers of his other hand trailing over his-  
  
Harry pressed his lips together and snatched his shampoo up, squeezing out a little more than necessary and almost dropping it.  
  
“So no shower then?” he asked, turning away from the spray and scrubbing his fingers through his hair with more force than he normally would. The scrape of his nails helped to keep his head clear.  
  
_Mm. Suppose I could always rub one off in the shower._ _  
_  
Until that.  
  
Now in his mind Louis wasn’t lying in bed, but pressed against the back wall of the shower just in front of him, whole body on display, not hiding anything because he was alone, eyes still closed, fist wrapped around himself, hair wet, entire body flushed now with the heat of the shower, gasping, tiny little noises he didn’t realize he was making with his quickening breaths-  
  
Harry closed his eyes and shoved his head back under the spray to rinse the shampoo out, using the water as a proverbial smack in the face, heart pounding wildly in his chest, blood pooling low, shaking up all the butterflies flying about in a bloody hurricane in his stomach.  
  
“You could do, yea.” Thankfully he got that out before a suspicious amount of time had passed.  
  
_What I know is I’m going to shower my body with so much bloody love and affection, with water or_ _without._ _  
_  
Jesus fuck. He didn’t dare think of his list of words right now, because that would be a dead giveaway and he was careful to picture those two curse words scrawled across his vision so Louis didn’t hear them. But that was all the control he had.  
  
Because with his eyes closed the vision was that much clearer, almost hyper-real: Louis stood before him, _with him_ , under the spray of the water, head thrown back and lips parted as Harry pulled him in, touched and caressed every inch of his skin, showering his body with so much bloody love and affection, pouring every ounce of it into Louis’ skin, sweeping kisses across his collarbones, catching the droplets of water streaming down his chest, tasting the salt and sweat of Louis’s body, Louis’s fingers in his hair, tight, gripping him close, nails dragging down his back, heart thudding beneath Harry’s lips as he drifted lower-  
  
Harry’s eyes shot open when he rocked forward on the balls of his feet and almost fell forwards. He shoved his fingernails into his palms, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to will other parts of his body to go back to fucking sleep.  
  
_What do you think?_

Louis’s question was so casual that Harry wasn’t sure if he’d noticed anything or not.  
  
“Wanking in the shower is much better. I’d go for that one.” He unclenched his hands and grinned, extraordinarily proud of himself right now for how calmly that came out.  
  
Louis laughed and that did much to loosen Harry up too.  
  
_Trying to tell me something, Haz?_ _  
_  
“Just my personal opinion.” He shrugged, reaching for the soap and lathering up his body. He didn’t need to look to wash, but he was careful only to look so much, not trusting his body to give nothing away if Louis could see it.  
  
_Going to take your own advice now?_

Louis was teasing him again and that just would not do right now. He already had the upper hand, being in Harry’s head and seeing things he normally wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean Harry was just going to give in and just let him have it.  
  
“No. I’m going to meditate.” That was part of the reason for the shower anyway, wasn’t it? Clear his mind and help Louis clear his and remember.  
  
Louis snorted.  
  
_Meditate. Got it. Alright, Haz._ _  
_  
“I am.”  
  
With that he turned away from the spray and sat down at the back of the tub with his legs crossed. He closed his eyes, let the water hit the top of his head and stream down his face, pasting his hair against his head.  
  
He took a deep breath, held it for three beats, then let it out as slowly as he could, relaxing his shoulders, letting his thoughts-  
  
_Well fuck me, you actually mean it._ _  
_  
He opened his eyes. For more than one reason.  
  
“Lou.”  
  
Louis continued as though he hadn’t even heard him.  
  
_Figured ‘meditate’ meant you were going to spend some time just you and your ‘thoughts’._ _  
_  
“That is the general concept, yes.”  
  
Louis didn’t say anything, so after ten seconds he closed his eyes and took another deep breath, held it, released it, relaxed his shoulders down.  
  
_So you’re really not going to have a wank?_ _  
_  
“Louis.”  
  
_It’s a bloody fair question. I have every right to know if I should brace myself._ _  
_  
Harry’s eyes shot open and he stared at the tiles of the back of the shower as hard as he possibly could, focusing on the tiles, only the tiles.  
  
“Brace yourself?”  
  
_Yes, Harold, brace myself._

The ‘Yes, Harold’ told Harry that if Louis could, he’d be rolling his eyes right now.

 _How would you feel if you had to watch someone else get off like it’s your own hand on your own dick and you couldn’t feel any of it? Who watches porn when you can’t rub one off to it._ _  
_  
A small smile played about his lips and he ignored the rabbiting of his heart, needing all his wits right now for this round.  
  
“You saying that’s the type of porn you like to watch?”  
  
_Why’re you so interested?_ _  
_  
Harry shrugged; he still hadn’t figured out if Louis could tell when he shrugged. He should ask sometime. He kept the same casual tone to his voice.  
  
“Just asking for a friend.”  
  
_A friend who is interested in the type of porn I wank to. And no I can’t see it._ _  
_  
Alright; they were getting sidetracked. He suddenly realized that was exactly what Louis was trying to do. So he needed to close his eyes again. And breathe. He did both.  
  
“I could always just not look, you know. Then you wouldn’t have to watch.”  
  
_So you saying you normally like to look?_ _  
_  
Cheeky bastard. Not for the first time Harry really wished he could poke Louis right now.  
  
_Kinky._ _  
_  
Nope. Nope.  
  
“C‘mon, I’m trying to help you remember, remember? So you can get back to your body and spend the rest of the day wanking if that’s what you want. Just try.”  
  
He took a long, deep inhale this time, held it for two beats, then let it out as slowly as he could. He cleared his mind, focused on the black of the back of his eyelids, the rush of water hitting the tiles, hitting his back, beginning to drift off into the white noise.  
  
_This isn’t working._ _  
_  
Harry opened his eyes, tipped forwards until his forehead hit the tiles, and groaned.

  
  


*

“You’re as terrible at meditating as I always expected you to be,” Harry muttered, more than a little frustrated because of...certain events now. He dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist and almost stomping through his room for a fresh set of clothes. He was only halfway paying attention to the pants, tee and jeans he pulled out.  
  
_Can you blame me? Useless and boring when I do have my body. Now it’s just a fucking nightmare._ _  
_  
Harry paused with one leg in his jeans, frowning.  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
_Because I got nothing, Haz! You close your eyes and stop_ ** _thinking_** _and I don’t...it’s like a fucking endless black hole. I can’t feel anything, can’t...like nothing to ground me. How would I even know if I’m still here? And then I’ve got to not fucking talk? But that’s...that’s all I have left. All I’ve got is me voice._ _  
_  
With only one leg in his jeans and so utterly shocked by the startlingly honest admission, Harry tripped over himself and just barely twisted to end up sitting heavily on his bed, his heart swelling and twisting with his body.  
  
Louis’s tone was so carefully controlled that Harry could hear the wavering only in the pauses he took to gather his thoughts, tripping through them in a way Louis never had trouble before. He wasn’t used to hearing Louis talk of anything like this.  
  
They all had off days and they all knew from the press of Louis’s lips together or the faraway look he’d sometimes get in his eyes that he had them too, but whenever he or the other lads asked, Louis would just shake his head, smile, push it away so suddenly that they were left wondering if they’d only imagined it all.  
  
And now, now Louis had trusted him enough with this and...he didn’t know what to say. His first instinct would be to _do_ , a hug or a squeeze to the shoulder or _something_. But right now Louis had never felt so close and so incredibly far away.  
  
His shoulders slumped and he ran his fingers through his wet curls.  
  
“Fuck. I didn’t-“ He sighed, shifted, tried again. “Why didn’t you say anything in the shower?”  
  
Because he remembered last night, when they’d got back from the club, when Louis had been so quiet and he’d been so tired that he wasn’t thinking at all. Louis loved to talk, true, but all he had right now to know he was still there was his voice, he _needed_ to talk.  
  
Louis chuckled faintly, but even that Harry heard so clearly.  
  
_Because I really was trying for you, you tit. Your ‘meditating’._ _  
_  
It wasn’t exactly an answer that made Harry feel any better, but how Harry felt right now really meant nothing. He stood up to put his jeans all the way on, only to flop back on his bed, refusing to close his eyes.  
  
“I really fucking wish I could hug you right now.”  
  
_Not like I can do anything to stop you._ _  
_  
Harry crossed his arms over his own chest in the sorriest most pathetic imitation of a hug he’d ever experienced.  
  
“But...would you? If you could feel it, would you want it?”  
  
Louis snorted, but even that sounded a little bit softer.  
  
_Course I would, Haz. You know you give the second best hugs on the planet._ _  
_  
“Second best?”  
  
_After meself, of course._ _  
_  
The cheeky tone was back in Louis’s voice and Harry couldn’t help but leech on to it, smiling himself, letting out a short bark of a laugh.  
  
“Only if best hugs includes ‘leaving hair a bloody mess’ or ‘tickles until they fall down’.”  
  
_Harold, on this planet that_ ** _is_** _a normal hug._ _  
_  
“Well maybe I’ll go out there and give you a normal hug from my planet.”  
  
_Because you’re obviously planning on getting up. What time s’it anyway?_ _  
_  
Harry rolled over and crawled up his bed to reach his phone where it was charging on the nightstand and clicked it on.  
  
“Just after 2.” He didn’t bother looking at the notifications he had, just clicked it off again and fell back. He heard Louis sigh at that moment.  
  
_I need you to text me mum._ _  
_  
“But I thought you didn’t want her knowing.” Something about Louis deciding that his mum needed to know made Harry’s heart skip a beat, as though they weren’t going to figure this out, as though in some weird way Louis just knew he wouldn’t-  
  
_You’re_ ** _not_** _telling her._ Louis cut in quickly. _It’s Sunday, Haz. I don’t think I’ll be fucking able to call her_ _tonight now will I._ _  
_  
Of course. Louis talked to his mum every Sunday, to know how the twins were doing, how things were going in Doncaster. The time he called had shifted when they’d been on tour, but he’d seen Louis all but part the Red Sea to make sure he had the chance to talk to her on Sunday. It was a rare day that he didn’t. No matter where they were in the world, half of Louis’s heart always stayed in Donny.  
  
“You never know. You just might," he finally said, but it lacked the confidence he meant it to have. Louis easily heard that too, if his dry laugh said anything about it.  
  
_Yea, but I doubt it._ _  
_  
Harry reached for his phone again, clicking open the chat app to message Jay.  
  
_No, use my phone. I don’t need me mum having any reason to worry._ _  
_  
Harry nodded, slugged off his bed and headed into Louis’s room. Louis’s body was still out on the sofa with the other lads, but after he and Zayn had gone to the club last night, Harry had put Louis’s phone back on the nightstand, though he hadn’t turned it back on. Probably wasn’t the best idea. He did that now, sitting where Louis usually slept as he powered it on and quickly typed in Louis’s passcode.  
  
“What should I say?”  
  
Louis’s answer took a few moments and when he spoke, it was with the dark humour that rarely came out, but when it did you thanked your personal guardian angels it wasn’t directed at you, because it stung as sharp as a venomous snake bite.  
  
_Tell her I lost me voice._ _  
_  
The bitter irony wasn’t lost on Harry and for a few seconds his thumbs just hovered over the screen. He typed it in, waiting to press send until Louis gave the go-ahead.  
  
_Lost it yesterday and it’s still not back. And I’ll ring soon as I can make more’n a squeak._ _  
_  
Harry huffed out something that may have been a laugh but typed it all in and pressed send.  
  
Jay must not be on shift at the hospital, because her reply came back less than a minute later.  
  
_Sunday, Feb 18 2:10 PM:_ _  
Thought the other boys were going to stop you from shouting so much on your nights out, Boo. Lemon and honey tea, yes? Rest up. I love you.  
_  
It must be a mum thing, because his mum did it too: wrote entire paragraphs in text.  
  
Harry couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t prying that he was seeing all this. He’d known since basically the day they met how close Louis was with his mum. His love for his family was one of the few emotions Louis never hid. He dutifully copied down the message Louis gave him:  
  
_Sunday, Feb 18 2:12 PM:_ _  
They’re all useless. will do Love you too.  
_  
He set Louis’s phone back on the nightstand, intending to get up and go join the other lads back in the living room, but almost as quickly as the intention came he just stayed there, unable to help the deep sadness that washed over him. It weighed down his shoulders with a pessimism and dejection he hadn’t felt in a long while.  
  
Out of everything that had happened, that Louis was disconnected from his mum just...hurt. That hurt. He curled a little more over himself and took a deep breath, because his heart needed the hug. He just wanted to snap his fingers and have everything go back to normal, tackle Louis in a massive hug and then split his attention between watching telly and watching Louis pace all around the flat on the phone with his mum.  
  
_This isn’t your fault. Stop thinking that._ _  
_  
“I know it’s not,” he mumbled, “but doesn’t make it not-“ he shrugged, sighed. “Want to do more. Don’t know what to do.”  
  
_I know, Haz. Me too._ _  
_  
“You alright?” Harry half-straightened up when he heard Liam’s voice in the doorway, twisted to look.  
  
“Woah, Harry.” Liam walked into the room, eyes roaming the area and Harry realized how it must look, sitting alone in Louis’s room where his body had been for the past day and a half, slumped over like he had nothing left. Liam sat down next to him, hand on his back. “You have that same look on your face you did Friday night when we got back to mine. What is it?”  
  
He slid his eyes closed and even now couldn’t help some sort of breathy chuckle. He knew he couldn’t keep his emotions off his face, but he hadn’t realized he was _this_ obvious.  
  
No, that was a lie. He absolutely knew. It was half the reason he’d started using his list of words, after all.  
  
“What look?”  
  
“Like you really fucking need a hug but Tommo isn’t already giving you one.”  
  
Ah, yes, of course. That look. He didn’t realize he’d had it often enough for it to become ‘a look’.  
  
Well, Liam wasn’t wrong right now, so Harry wasn’t about to lie and deny it. He shrugged, rubbing the side of his thumb nail over his thigh, digging in to feel the scratch through the thick fabric of his black jeans.  
  
“Reckon we could both use one really. But I’m the only one who could feel it anyway. So... yea. That’s that.”  
  
Liam frowned, sighed, but pulled Harry into a sideways hug, arms tight around him. Liam did give some damn good hugs, Harry couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny that the comforting touch immediately settled something in him.  
  
“This is going to be sorted, you know that, right?” Liam pulled back enough to look into Harry’s face. “Both of you.”  
  
_Don’t fucking know how._ _  
_  
“Doesn’t feel that way,” Harry muttered after relaying what Louis had said.  
  
“Of course it doesn’t. Harry, you’re as bloody optimistic as they come, but that doesn’t mean you always are. Or that things won’t work out just because we don’t know how they will, Tommo.” Liam pulled back but kept his hand on Harry’s back, rubbing up and down his spine. “We all thought we were cut on X-Factor. Then they put us in a band. Then we lost in the semi-finals, now we’re six days away from our second world tour.” Liam’s shoulders lifted then sank. “Try going back in time and telling me all this would happen right after I didn’t make the cut the first time I auditioned.”  
  
Harry really couldn’t argue with that. Apparently Louis couldn’t either.  
  
_Think magical curses are a mite different though._ _  
_  
Nope, he took that back. Louis could argue with anything and anyone if he really wanted to. But he repeated it anyway.  
  
“Well, yea,” Liam agreed with a quiet laugh, “and way more bloody terrifying if I’m going to be honest. Niall, Zayn and me aren’t quite as lucky as Harry with all this either.”  
  
“I’m not sure I’d call myself lucky. I wouldn’t call any of this lucky.”  
  
“It’s not lucky like winning the lottery, no. But...I know you got Tommo stuck in your head, hearing your every bloody thought and probably not giving you a moment of peace, but-“ Liam shrugged, looked somewhere in the direction of Louis’s wardrobe, shrugged again, “-least you can hear him.”  
  
“Yea. Loads of good that’s doing too.” Harry couldn’t be arsed to pull the darkness out of his voice. Not that he didn’t agree on some level. He doubted he’d be handling any of this half as well as he was if he couldn’t talk to his best mate, but for all the good he was doing for Louis, the trade-off didn’t seem fair.  
  
Liam’s hand paused on his back but then he moved it to Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently and turning Harry to face him a little bit more.  
  
“Probably more than you know.” He shook him slightly when Harry didn’t say anything. “Hey. Listen. You remember at Marbella when Tommo managed to find the only sea urchin this side of the Mediterranean and step on it?”  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
“He does have a knack for just walking straight into the impossible.”  
  
Liam chuckled, surprise shooting across his face when he reached the same realization.  
  
“Wasn’t where I was going with that, but you’re right. Reckon we really shouldn’t be surprised you managed to pull this off then, Tommo.” He motioned at Harry and then at his head.  
  
Urchin in the ocean, mage in a club. Made sense. Nothing new to see here.  
  
But shit. These things always come in threes, don’t they? What next? Harry didn’t even want to think about that. If Louis tried for a third Harry would absolutely not be responsible for his actions that may or may not include maiming, muzzling, and/or ropes.  
  
_Didn’t know you were into that, Haz._ _  
_  
If they had a repeat anywhere near this, Harry was absolutely going to scream. No. Just no.  
  
Liam was chewing at his lip though so Harry stayed quiet, watching. Finally after a quick sideways glance to see that Harry was still with him, he said, “it’s a bit like that. Like Marbella I guess.” And then he took a deep breath, seemed to steel himself, and added, “Just doesn’t feel right without his voice. Not the same.”  
  
He almost immediately leaned over his legs and scrubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head and chuckling. Harry realized then that he was struggling with being very serious and containing his own embarrassment.  
  
“I know, Tommo, you’re probably going to hold me saying that over my head for the next ten years, and I’m going to want to regret saying that out loud just as long but...” He trailed off again, sat up, then plowed on after another deep breath, “but I meant it the first time when I said it there and I mean it now.” He met Harry’s eyes, looking for all the world like he was surrendering to his fate. “And I know you’ll do what you did then and show back up and put everything to rights just in time. It’s what you do without even thinking, Tommo. So I know it’ll happen. And you two should remember that too.”  
  
Or maybe he hadn’t completely surrendered to his fate, because he stood up quickly right after he said that, starting for the door.  
  
Harry had to all but blurt out what Louis said for Liam to hear it in time, though he didn’t translate the lightness of Louis’s tone. That tone was wavering anyway, just barely, but Harry could hear it.  
  
_You really like me voice that much, Payno?_ _  
_  
Liam paused in the doorway, lightly rapping two knuckles against the frame, watching the movement before he looked back to Harry and offered a half-smile.  
  
“Yea, reckon I do. And we’d all really, really fucking like to hear it again soon.”  
  
He ducked out of the room and Harry didn’t try to stop him, figuring poor Liam had put himself through enough these last few minutes just to make them both feel better.  
  
He fell back on the bed when they were alone again, not bothering to draw his legs up onto it.  
  
_...You know, I might not remember choosing you, Haz, but that doesn’t mean I’d want to change where I_ _am._ _  
_  
“Really? Figured you’d much prefer your own head than mine.”  
  
_You know what I mean, you tit. I love the lads, but if I’m going to be a voice in anyone’s head, I’d want it_ _to be yours._ _  
_  
Harry let the words, the honest, plaintive tone beneath the joking wash over him and he took a deep breath to let it all sink in, a smile once again pulling his lips up.  
  
“I’m unhinged, it’s mental, but it sounds like you’re saying it’s not such a bad place to be, Alice.”  
  
_The fuck? Alice?_ _  
_  
Now his smile turned into a full-on grin and he closed his eyes. Oh, this was priceless. It wasn’t often he tripped Louis up with his jokes.  
  
“Mm. You’ll figure it out eventually.”  
  
_Harold, we were having a serious fucking conversation here and now you think-_ _  
_  
Harry could hear the others out in the main area, hear someone puttering around the kitchen, but for the moment he just wanted to float along on the wave of victory that he felt, using Louis’s constant stream of tart indignation as his raft.


	10. Chapter 10

He could still hear movement coming from the kitchen when he blinked his eyes open. With his hands over his head, he stretched out his body and sat up. His feet were still over the end of Louis’s bed.  
  
Rising, he rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes and padded out into the hallway towards the kitchen, then stopped.  
  
“What...what are you doing on the worktop?”  
  
Louis twisted at the waist to look down at Harry from where he was stood on the kitchen worktop, blinked, pointed at his bare feet and said, “Standing.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he walked the rest of the way into the kitchen and leaned against the island.  
  
“So glad we cleared that up.”  
  
Louis shrugged, turned his back to him again. He was wearing the same outfit as outside of this dream: the white pullover, grey beanie and blue plaid pyjama bottoms.  
  
“You asked.”  
  
Facing away from him like this at the height he was, Harry had quite the view of Louis's arse and couldn’t stop himself from staring. He seemed less capable of stopping himself in these dreams for reasons he didn't quite understand.  
  
Louis opened the highest cupboard and reached into the back of the top shelf, right below the ceiling. His arm disappeared inside and came back out a moment later with a box of Coco Pops.  
  
“Seriously?” Harry stifled half a laugh. “Please tell me you don’t actually have Coco Pops stashed up there.”  
  
“Harold.” After closing the cupboard, instead of hopping down, Louis turned and leaned against it, crossing his bare feet at the ankles and flicking open the box. He grabbed a handful and started eating them one by one, tucking the box under one arm. “I have Coco Pops hidden all over this bloody flat now because of your disgustingly filthy shenanigans.”  
  
He should have known Louis hadn’t forgotten about that. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d make sure to lock down in his memory. Which meant- he turned and looked towards the living room before he could stop himself and when he turned back, it was to see a light smirk playing about Louis’s lips.  
  
Louis tossed up another pop and caught it in his mouth.  
  
“You look a bit worried there, Curly. Any particular reason?”  
  
Well shit. He _definitely_ needed to get a locked cabinet the moment this was all over.  
  
“All the paperwork for management I’ll have to fill out when you go arse over tit.” Harry hefted himself up to sit on the island, let his heels thump against the base. He had to lean fairly far back on his palms to angle his body right to see up into Louis’s face without craning his neck. “No one will be surprised, but I’ll still have to explain it somehow.”  
  
Louis's gaze flicked down his chest and then he threw a piece of cereal at Harry.  
  
He plucked it from his stomach where it’d settled, nibbled at the tiniest bit of it, musing out loud, “Probably could say whatever I wanted too. And can you imagine the articles when it gets out?” He splayed his hands like a headline. “‘Louis Tomlinson Bested by Gravity.’ ‘One Direction Member Confuses his Directions, Forgets about ‘Down’.’ ‘Tommo the Tease Gets Intimate with The Kitchen Floor, more at 6’.”  
  
Louis launched three pops at him this time and they hit Harry in the cheek and chest.  
  
“One Directioner Harry Styles Thinks He’s Funny, Finds Out He’s Not, more at ‘All The Bloody Time’.”  
  
Only one of the little pops hadn’t rolled out of reach and Harry tipped back enough to grab it and launched it right back up at Louis, who blocked it with the box and a _hah!_.  
  
“I’m plenty funny or you wouldn’t be friends with me,” he quipped, eyeing another piece of cereal that had landed just at the far edge of the island, trying to decide whether he could reach it or not. He probably could, but that left him open for far too long to pot-shots from Louis. Decisions, decisions.  
  
“Funny to look at.” Louis didn’t miss a beat. He finished his handful and set the box down, then hopped down easily - as light on his feet as any footie player tended to be - already pulling out a bowl, spoon, and the milk. He glanced over his shoulder, nearly overfilling the bowl with cereal. “So, Alice.”  
  
It took Harry a moment, confused as to why Louis was calling him Alice, but then he burst out laughing, even clapping his hands once for good measure.  
  
“Still?” He shook his head, jumped down from the island and looped his arms around Louis from behind, plopping his chin on Louis’ shoulder. “Nope.”  
  
Louis huffed, rolled his shoulders until Harry picked his head up, then plucked a piece of cereal from his bowl and pushed it against Harry’s lips without looking. Harry dutifully took it and chewed.  
  
“You do realize it’s only because you’re so completely out of context that it doesn’t make sense, right?” he pointed out as he poured the milk.  
  
“Uh huh.” Harry swallowed and only let go of Louis when he’d finished pouring and turned to sit at the island. “ _Or_ the context is perfectly there and _you_ just don’t see it.” He grinned, dimples and all, and leaned against the island on one elbow as soon as Louis had settled into his seat and started eating. “Don’t worry, Lou, it happens to the best of us.”  
  
Louis brandished his spoon at Harry while he chewed and for a second Harry thought he was going to swallow before speaking, but of course not.  
  
“The best of us. Exactly. Don’t forget that,” he countered with his mouth full.  
  
“Best table manners too.”  
  
Louis just shot him a look, clearly unimpressed, and shoved in another mouthful, eyes suddenly lighting up as his gaze landed on something past Harry on the kitchen table. “Oh look! A journal!”  
  
By the time Harry turned, Louis had already sprung up and swiped his leather journal from the table.  
  
Mostly because he’d had to take a moment and decipher what “Oh-oog, a orlal” meant.  
  
“Hey!” He darted after him and Louis rounded the table, always keeping the table between them, laughing as he held it out as though he’d give it back only to snatch it back the moment Harry lunged for it.  
  
Harry couldn’t reach far enough over the table anyway.  
  
“What? You want it or something?”  
  
Harry dodged left and Louis did the same. They ended up at opposite ends of the table, just as far apart as before.  
  
“Lou.” He didn’t think Louis would open it. He never tried in real life, but this wasn’t real life. Harry had no idea what might be written in it now and the terrifying truth was that Louis might be thinking the same thing.  
  
“Hm.” Louis kept his face carefully neutral, opening it right in the middle without looking.

Harry instantly looked down, caught the flash of a sequence, of two symbols bookending three numbers, standing out stark across the page and took that moment to feint right, then go left again, then slid over the bottom half of the table which put him almost within arm's reach of Louis.  
  
“Shit!” Louis clapped the journal shut on his finger to keep the page, laughed and took off running, bare feet skidding across the tiled floor as Harry gave chase. He was fast, but still just barely made it into the living room and got the sofa between them so they were once again at a standstill.

Harry was this close to rolling straight over the sofa too. He was sure he could do it in dreams too, his balance was a little (read: a lot) better here.  
  
“Alright, alright!” Louis laughed again, throwing his hands up in surrender before Harry could test that theory about his balance. “Keep your bloody pants on, Haz.” He slid the journal off his finger to hold it out to Harry with his other hand.  
  
“Ow. Fuck.” He hissed, staring down at his palm, at the thin slice the paper had made in the second knuckle of his middle finger.  
  
Harry snorted, snatching his journal back and safely tucking it away under his crossed arms.  
  
“Karma. That’s called karma.”  
  
Louis was still staring down at his finger, confusion written across his features and a faraway look in his eyes.  
  
“What?” Harry asked, looking between his hand and his face. “It’s just a paper cut.”  
  
Louis’s eyes fluttered; he swayed sideways.  
  
“Lou!”  
  
Harry swerved around the sofa to catch his bicep, journal falling forgotten to the floor. He twisted around Louis’ shoulder to peer into his face even as he slotted his body up against Louis to keep him upright. “Jesus, Lou, can you hear me?”  
  
Louis blinked several times, eyes coming back into focus even as Harry watched, before he looked up and met Harry’s gaze. The hand of the arm Harry was holding fell to brace against the arm of the sofa. Harry knew the worry was right there in his own eyes, didn’t bother hiding it.  
  
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.  
  
Louis shook his head, eyes locked on his hand again. He didn’t feel like he was about to fall anymore, but Harry didn’t want to take any chances. The only place Harry was about to let him go was down, to sit on the sofa right in front of him, but Louis didn’t move, stayed pressed against him.  
  
“I think this happened.” Louis still sounded distant, rubbing his thumb over his middle finger, smearing the thin line of blood that had welled from the cut. “It feels like this really happened.”  
  
That made absolutely no-  
  
“Wait. You mean like at the club? Did you just remember something?”  
  
Louis nodded then shook his head, pressing fingers into his temple and wincing, as though he might physically push the memory up and out.  
  
“Check for this when you wake up, yea? See if I’m right?”  
  
Harry could only nod, not ashamed to admit to himself that he wasn’t all that happy with how these last few minutes were unfolding.  
  
“Is...is that where you just went? To the club?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Harry pulled back enough to turn Louis by the shoulders to face him completely, peering straight into Louis’s eyes as though they’d give him a clue or a warning.  
  
The fact that Louis was looking straight back at him, despite how close Harry was, how very intensely he knew he was looking into his eyes, didn’t lessen the concern he felt. It was like Louis didn’t quite realize what he was letting Harry do, looking through him and not quite seeing him. His pupils were blown wide like he was hovering in that strange limbo that Harry had only ever experienced as that comfortable space of not being quite awake or asleep where everything was just...still.  
  
“You were in some sort of trance or something. Like you were about to faint.”  
  
Like that word was some sort of passcode that unlocked his brain’s instinct to challenge, Louis blinked, fully came back to him in a way that Harry couldn’t quite explain. His features went straight into unimpressed, complete with an eye roll. But even that was tempered because he also looked utterly perplexed at the same time, like he actually had no idea what Harry was talking about. His arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“I was not about to faint. You can’t faint in dreams anyway.”  
  
“Maybe not in normal dreams. But-“  
  
“But maybe that’s what we need to do,” Louis cut in. Now it was Harry’s turn to be baffled.  
  
“We need to faint?”  
  
“No, Harold. No one needs to faint. And I wasn’t about to faint either, remember?” Louis rolled his eyes again and fell back to sit on the sofa behind him in such a way that Harry was tempted to argue that last point. He bit his tongue though and Louis said, “Maybe we need to get back to the club.”  
  
“But we’ve already been back. I don’t see how that’s going to help us now.”  
  
“Not there. Here.” Louis was tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa, looking around. He pulled his other hand up and stared at the cut again before waving at their surroundings. “In your dreams.”  
  
They didn’t have much else to go on, so why not?  
  
“How do we get there though? It’s not like either of us have chosen where we’ve been these last three times,” Harry pointed out hesitantly.  
  
“I don’t know.” Louis turned sideways and spread out over the sofa, resting half-upright against the arm and rubbing a hand over his face, then down over his lips to scratch at the scruff on his chin as he stared up at the ceiling. Something about it both startled and settled Harry at the same time and then he realized why.  
  
Louis was lying in the exact same position right now as his body was outside of the dream.  
  
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, uncrossed them, then crossed over the front of the sofa to sit on the other side, parallel to Louis, mirroring him. He tangled their legs together the way they always did.  
  
Louis dropped his eyes to Harry once Harry was settled.  
  
“What about if you just try walking there? Maybe it’ll magically appear the way we ended up on the stadium steps. Take out your in-between.”  
  
Perfect timing for that suggestion, seeing as Harry had just sat down and gotten comfortable. He wiggled his toes into Louis’s thigh to silently point that out. Louis seemed to get it but also apparently didn’t care, because he gave him yet another ‘look’.  
  
“Alright, alright.” Harry dropped his head back to rest on the arm of the sofa, then smiled up at the ceiling. “...Are you going to faint again the moment we get there?”  
  
“Harry.”  
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before heaving himself back up off the sofa, standing in the middle of the living room.  
  
“So, what? Just walk?”  
  
Louis twisted back so he was sitting, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, watching closely, like maybe Harry might suddenly phase out or something.  
  
“Try it. That’s when it seems to happen. You start walking and I guess you’re thinking about going somewhere else.”  
  
Well, alright then. He shrugged, pushed his hair off his forehead but then had to lean forwards and shake it and fix it because it fell back wrong. Louis was still watching, waiting. So Harry looked towards the front door, thought about going back to the club, and walked-  
  
-to the front door.  
  
He turned at the front door and looked across the living room to the hallway that led to their bedrooms, thought about the club, and walked again-  
  
-into the hallway by their bedrooms.  
  
He huffed, looked over towards the kitchen, thought about the club _again_ , and strode into-  
  
-the kitchen.  
  
“It’s not working,” he said, coming to stand back in the middle of the living room, in front of Louis.  
  
He was trying the whole time to ignore that Louis was just watching him aimlessly wander around their flat, but the small smile Louis was trying to hide right now was making that infinitely more difficult.  
  
“I can see that.”  
  
For just a moment he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, he could pull out some super power and do it, get Louis to the club and then Louis would remember and they’d fix this and he’d be able to talk to his mum tonight. Reality - ironic seeing as this was a dream - smacked him in the face and he slouched over and plopped himself down on the floor between Louis’s legs, his back to the sofa, and let his head fall sideways into Louis’s knee.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbled.  
  
Both of Louis’s hands dove right into his curls, shaking and fluffing and pulling them off his face. He had to lift his head off Louis’s knee, but the utter pleasure of fingers in his hair made that worth it.  
  
“I know you are, Haz.” Louis’s quiet voice matched his mumble. “It’s not your fault. Next time, yea?”  
  
Harry just closed his eyes, let his shoulders fall, let Louis turn his hair into a bird’s nest.  
  
Louis’s hands fell away after a few minutes when he folded in half to rest his chin on top of Harry’s head, forearms dropping onto Harry’s shoulders so his hands flopped limp in front of his chest. He took a deep breath, long enough and loud enough that Harry could hear it.  
  
Harry didn’t move, not just because he didn’t want to, but because he recognized the pensive sound for what it was, waited for whatever Louis wanted to say.  
  
And he knew, he just knew that if he turned so he could see Louis’s face, whatever he was about to say would disappear. Because he didn’t think what Louis had told him after his shower would have been said if Harry could see him, like being just a voice in Harry’s head had put the screen of a confessional between them.  
  
He glanced down without moving his head; Louis was fiddling with his cross pendant with both hands, twisting and turning it only to pause and rub the pad of his index finger over one of the edges. The small movement warmed Harry's heart. He reached up and ran a finger over the back of each hand, as though to tell Louis that that’s where his attention was but not wanting him to stop. It did the trick, because a moment later Louis spoke with a strange mix of hesitation and determination that only Louis could pull off.  
  
“You were right, Haz.”  
  
Harry held the space for a few seconds to see if Louis would say more, before carefully easing a question into the silence, hooking his first two fingers over each of Louis’s pinkies and just letting them hang there.  
  
“About what?”  
  
He heard and felt Louis sigh, both in the way his chest expanded against him and the way he felt the puff of his breath fluff his hair.  
  
“That I’m not fucking ok. This is all … and I’m fucking angry. Or...I was. Now I’m...I’m just fucking ... I want-...I need to fucking feel again, Haz. Really feel.”  
  
He dropped the pendant to curl his fingers around Harry’s and gave two light squeezes to let Harry know what he meant before letting them fall limp again in Harry’s hold. Louis was letting him play with his fingers and they were warm, warm in a way they’d lost yesterday morning outside the dream.  
  
All of Louis was warm, a solid presence curved around him right now, filling Harry with a confidence he couldn’t find so easily when he was awake.  
  
“You will. Soon. We’ve got a plan now. We’ll get you to the club I promise.”  
  
“But we don’t even know if it’ll work once you do. What if I don’t remember in time? We’re six fucking days away from tour and we’ve got the fucking Brits on Tuesday. What if I can’t fucking figure this out before then? Fuck, what if I actually did fucking ask for this and now I’m going to...to...fuck...just fuck it all up for you lads or be fucking stuck like this for-...”  
  
Louis cut himself off.  
  
Harry caught both of Louis’s hands and uncurled them from the fists they’d turned into even with Harry holding his pinkies and pressed them flat against his breastbone, wrists criss-crossed, silently urging him to take comfort the best way Harry could give it to him and feel something now.  
  
“You’re going to remember before then. And me and the lads are going to help. You really think we care more about tour than you? If you asked for this, you must’ve had a good reason.”  
  
Louis snorted. Harry felt his chin leave his hair but then his face was pressed into the top of Harry’s head, so when he spoke, Harry could feel his lips moving against his scalp. He suppressed a shiver.  
  
“Can’t think of many ‘good reasons’ to put meself or you in a bind like this. This whole thing is just my fucking luck.”  
  
Still holding Louis’s hands against his chest with one hand, Harry blindly reached up behind, felt the plush of Louis’s beanie and slipped his hand beneath, just behind Louis’s ear, rubbing the pads of his fingers against his scalp.  
  
Louis relaxed, just a bit, sinking against him with a little exhale and Harry squeezed his hands once, to say _That’s it_ or _It’s_ _alright_ or _You’re_ _ok_ or _I’ve_ _got_ _you_.  
  
“You think where you are today, with us, in a band, was all just luck? Maybe it was fucking luck that you found a mage, I’ll believe that, but...it has to be more than luck that put you here. Maybe one of those reasons you’re thinking of will help you remember.”  
  
Louis shook his head without lifting his face out of Harry’s hair or dislodging his fingers.  
  
“No reasons that a fucking curse like this could fix anyway,” he muttered, voice muffled by Harry’s hair. “Just,” he hesitated, Harry heard him swallow, “just made everything worse.”  
  
Harry spread and curled his fingers through Louis’s hair, letting the silence linger for a few moments, debating whether he should ask or not.  
  
“Maybe talking through them might help?”  
  
Louis tensed. Harry could feel it so plainly, could also feel it when he sagged not even a moment later. And then he was lifting his face from Harry’s hair and setting his chin on top of his head again.  
  
“Didn’t you threaten to show me what a normal hug from your home planet was like?”  
  
Harry didn’t want Louis to ever regret talking to him, even if the very obvious shut down made Harry’s heart drop. He wouldn’t pry. He wasn’t going to be like the rest of the world, always wanting to pry into every part of their lives.  
  
For all his antics and dramatics and all the noise he made, Louis was intensely private, had instinctively shied away in surprise when some of the first utterly mental questions that had nothing to do with their careers or talents had come up. He probably didn’t think Harry had noticed, but he had.  
  
No, he got prying from the rest of the world. He wasn’t going to get it from Harry.  
  
So Harry chuckled, released Louis’s hands and twisted at the waist to catch Louis’s right leg in an obnoxious hug, complete with a little rocking. Then he pulled back, dropped his head back on his shoulders when Louis sat up so he was looking at Louis upside down, flashing him a fully-dimpled smile.  
  
Louis’s face lit up, smile spreading like sunshine over his features even as he tried to look unimpressed.  
  
“Really? That’s it?” He leaned back over enough so his face was hovering just above Harry’s, making a show of studying his face upside-down, gaze lingering on Harry's grin. He tipped his head to the side and poked Harry in the nose, then spider-fingered a line up his neck. “And here I thought since you have a thing for necks maybe that was part of your alien culture too.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and smacked at Louis’s hand, missing completely.  
  
“Sod off.”  
  
Louis crossed his eyes and twisted his face into the goofiest look he could muster.  
  
“No.”  
  
He looked so smug. Harry couldn’t let that stand. So he reached up and caught Louis around the back of the neck with both hands, doubling him over into the most ridiculous and likely most uncomfortable hug he could. Shoving Louis’s face upside-down into his neck, he laughed when Louis wiggled and let out a noise that sounded like disgruntled laughter against his skin.  
  
“Unhand me, you fool!”  
  
King Louis. There he was. Harry missed King Louis.  
  
Louis’s beanie had become a bit dislodged in the scuffle and Harry turned his head, bit lightly on the shell of Louis’s ear that was right next to his lips, and said into it, just as smug:  
  
“No.”  
  
“Twat.”  
  
He should have expected it, because he’d done it when Louis had star-fished a hand over his face, but he didn’t. He opened his mouth to take the point-  
  
Louis slid his tongue over Harry’s neck, as wet and slobbering as he could and Harry squawked at the long line of unexpected heat, heart thumping and preparing to leap right out of his chest.  
  
Louis’s fingers dug into his sides and Harry jerked, releasing him even as he threw his head back with his laughter, right into Louis’ stomach, eyes closing, surrounded it seemed on all sides by Louis and never wanting to come back out.  
  
Something shifted.  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
And found himself staring up at the ceiling of Louis’s bedroom.  
  
Fuck.  
  
His skin tingled where he could still feel the hot wet press of Louis’s tongue, the phantom caress of warmth of Louis’s body curved around him, alive with the energy pulsing beneath his skin. Pushing out a shaky breath, he shook his head violently to clear it, to settle his sweet creature of a heart back down again.  
  
Harry didn’t know what woke him - for real this time - but he had just managed to sit up on his elbows when Liam appeared in the doorway again, looking both surprised and concerned.  
  
“What just happened? Did you fall asleep?”  
  
Liam was perceptive, but knowing the moment Harry woke up seemed a bit much, even for his spidey-senses. Harry sat up fully and nodded, knowing the confusion was written all over his face.  
  
“Yea, why?”  
  
Liam jerked his head towards the living room, looking as though he were trying to both not freak out and sort something out at the same time.  
  
“It’s Tommo.”


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was right behind Liam before he’d managed to turn around, rushing out towards the living room on Liam’s heels. He called out to Louis in his mind as they went, but Louis didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected him to. Rounding the corner to the living room he saw Niall and Zayn both hovering over Louis, FIFA match forgotten on the telly behind them, quiet voices fast and urgent. Not even a moment ago Louis had been sitting right there in the dream and just seeing what he could of Louis between the other two, lying just as still as before, had Harry’s heart sinking all over again.  
  
Zayn and Niall looked up and made enough space for Harry to squeeze in between them at Louis’ side.  
  
Louis’s head was still turned towards the back of the sofa; his eyes were still closed; he was still not moving.  
  
Except Louis wasn’t _still_ anymore. Now there were faint tremors pulsing through his limbs, like he was shivering, like his body was finally reacting to being so cold.  
  
Harry curved his palm over Louis’s cheek, felt the same shock of cold as before, deliberately held his breath before it could start racing like his heart was doing all over again though for a very different reason this time.  
  
“When did this happen?” Holding his breath made that come out a bit strangled.  
  
“Naught fucking ten seconds ago.” Niall still had his hand on Louis’ shoulder, as though he could stop the shaking. “Did something happen? What’s going on, Tommo?”  
  
Harry shook his head while still trying to keep his breathing under control and swallowed.  
  
“He’s not there.”  
  
Three heads shot up to stare at him and he quickly explained.  
  
“He doesn’t...I don’t know, doesn’t wake up as fast as I do. It takes him a couple minutes to come back. He’s not here yet.”  
  
 _“Come on, Lou. Now would be a really good time.”_  
  
“You fell asleep?” Zayn asked, looking between Louis’ shivering body and Harry’s face. When Harry nodded, he pressed, just as Liam had, “What happened? Did something happen?”  
  
“He might’ve remembered something, from the club.” Harry pulled Louis’s right hand out from beneath the blankets and checked the inside of his middle finger, found the thin slice of a paper cut, no more than a couple days old. “Shit, Lou.”  
  
 _“Louis, come on. Where are you?”_  
  
“Is he still not there?” Liam asked, watching Harry closely. Harry could only shake his head. “But this has happened before? This happens every time?” Harry nodded. Liam glanced back down at Louis, studying him, lips pressed in a thin line. “Do you think all this has something to do with the dreams then?”  
  
Now they were all looking at Liam. But Liam turned his focus back to Harry.  
  
“Think about it. When I woke you for your shift last night, he was cold, right? I swear to you, Harry, I checked on him right before I woke you and he wasn’t. And then you said he felt colder this morning after you woke up. And now you wake up again and he’s shivering? And every time something’s changed, you’re saying he hasn’t been in your head when it happens.”  
  
“You think that maybe this has something to do with remembering then?” Zayn asked, trying to stay calm. “Like even though he’s not in his body it’s giving us some sort of clue because he remembered something?”  
  
“Or that he’s gone somewhere,” Harry added, tucking Louis’s hand back beneath the blanket, even though it clearly wouldn’t make much of a difference. “He doesn’t remember going anywhere, but he must be, right? If he’s not in my head and not back in his body?”  
  
“His breathing hasn’t changed, even if he is shaking like a bloody leaf now,” Niall pointed out, as though that supported all of their conclusions. His grip on Louis' shoulder was a bit tight from what Harry could see. Just looking at Louis he wasn’t shaking that badly, but between Niall’s hold and his words, Harry wondered if the shivers were deeper below the surface.  
  
Liam nodded at Zayn’s question, pushing a hand through his hair.  
  
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Hell, it’s the only thing I want to make sense. Because if this isn’t magical ** _—_** ”  
  
 _If what isn’t magical?_ _  
_  
“Fucking thank god, Lou,” Harry blurted out, startling the other three enough that they actually jumped. He held up a hand as some sort of silent apology. “He’s back.”  
  
“About fucking time,” Niall grumbled, the relief evident in his voice, mirroring the way Zayn’s shoulders sagged and Liam took a deep breath.  
  
 _What’s going on? Did you check, Haz?_ _  
_  
“It’s there. I checked. Can you feel anything at all?”  
  
 _Why **—**_ _  
_  
Harry stared at Louis, _really_ stared, leaning down close enough so that Louis filled his entire vision and Louis in his head couldn’t help but see.  
  
 _What the fuck._ _  
_  
“We don’t know. Can you feel anything?”  
  
 _Of fucking course I can’t. What was Payno on about?_ _  
_  
Harry relayed the conversation they’d had before Louis came back and then told the others what Louis had remembered in the dream, added that Louis couldn’t feel anything still, had no idea what was going on either, but that Louis did have the idea that maybe he needed to go back to the club in Harry’s dreams.  
  
He sank down to sit on the edge of the sofa, trying not to let the cold and the tremors in Louis's body pressing against his lower back get to him. He'd been right: now that he was touching Louis, he could feel the tightening and fluttering of his muscles. Niall must’ve been picking up on that too.  
  
“Do you have that much control over your dreams? That you can choose where you are?” Niall asked slowly, finally pulling back and sitting down in the armchair. Zayn sat in front of Harry on the coffee table so their knees were tangled in the small space. Liam squeezed in next to Niall on the armchair a second later.  
  
“I’ve heard of lucid dreaming, but didn’t think you could do it, Haz,” Liam added.  
  
“I can’t. I never even remembered my dreams before these.” Harry sighed, pushed his hands into his hair, wished they weren’t his hands. “I don’t know. I haven’t chosen where we are in my dreams yet. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Even if it was just a dream, there was something physical that happened in it that made Louis remember. I know we already went back to the club last night, but Lou wasn’t there, not physically. Maybe this is the best way to do it so he can actually be in the space without his body.”  
  
Zayn mumbled something and then shook his head, eyes widening.  
  
“Fucking hell.” He looked between three confused faces and then threw out a hand towards Louis. “Give him his body back.”  
  
“Yea, that’s what we’re trying to ** _—_** "  
  
“No. No.” Zayn cut Niall off. “That’s what Harry’s doing. He’s giving Tommo his body back. Right?” He turned to Harry. “Tommo’s not just a voice in your dreams, right? He’s actually got his fucking body.”  
  
“Give him his body so he can remember and get his body back.” Liam was only a second behind Zayn. That wasn’t surprising. The two of them were sometimes strangely in sync, pun very much intended. “So that’s how he’s going to remember? In these dreams with Harry?”  
  
“Lads, this all sounds really fucking brilliant, but ** _—_** " Niall waved his hands. Harry couldn’t tell if he was trying to come up with his words or fighting himself to force them out. “ ** _—_** but do we know if this is happening every time he remembers? Or just every time he dreams?”  
  
 _Does it fucking matter?_ _  
_  
“Does it matter?” As soon as he and Louis asked it, Harry had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to know where Niall was going with this.  
  
“Well it’s just,” Niall sighed, “if something happens to his body every time you dream, or, well, every time you wake up, what happens if it takes another ten dreams to remember? Twenty? Bloody hell, even five?”  
  
The five of them were never silent. Four of them were rarely silent. The silence now was almost stifling.  
  
“Louis, did you remember anything in the dream at mine?” Liam asked, looking at Harry. “Or whatever you dreamed after that?”  
  
Nothing like what’d happened in this last dream had happened in the first two, Harry knew that. The scare Louis had given him this last time would have been impossible to forget in the other two.  
  
 _I don’t know. Fuck. Maybe?_ _  
_  
Harry’s brows furrowed and he sat up straight, turning to Louis out of habit.  
  
“What do you mean maybe?”  
  
Louis sighed. Harry could easily picture him shaking out his hair and shoving his fringe to the side, something they both did really, like they could both shake the thoughts right out and have them land in their hands.  
  
Except right now Louis's hair was still mostly spiked up from the night out. And under a beanie. Because he’d gone to sleep before having a wash. Because he’d gone to sleep and hadn’t woken up yet. He brushed the fringe out of Louis's eyes even though they were closed.  
  
 _I don’t know why, Haz, but I think I maybe started to remember something in the stadium._

Harry's fingers froze. _  
_  
“When? What?”  
  
 _I don’t know. It was something you said. It just felt familiar. But then you made some joke and I lost it. Didn’t even remember ‘til just now._ _  
_  
Fuck. Fuck, Harry. Come on. Fuck.  
  
 _You didn’t know. Stop._

Harry pulled his hand back. _  
_  
“Did he remember something?” Liam asked, causing Harry to look up at three expectant faces.  
  
“He thinks he started to remember something when we were playing footie but I distracted him before he could. Something felt familiar about something I said.”  
  
“And what about the dream at mine?”  
  
Harry shook his head, ducking down so for a moment they couldn’t see his face. The other three didn’t know what had happened, but the argument was still fresh, still not something he wanted to remember. But they’d already asked about that dream and the answer hadn’t changed.  
  
“He didn’t. That was ** _—_** " His head shot up towards the telly. Wait.  
  
“Harry?” Zayn followed his eyes to the television too, but it was just the forgotten FIFA match, players standing idly on the pitch.  
  
 _Haz, what **—**_ _  
_  
“You did. You did remember something.” He tore his gaze from the television, to Zayn, to Louis. “But you were so angry you didn’t realize it. Fuck, I was so angry I didn’t realize it either.”  
  
“Angry?” Liam looked confused by that but Harry shook his head.  
  
“We had a row. I fucked up. But you did, Lou.” He ignored how utterly surprised the other three looked at hearing they’d fought.  
  
 _Haz, I think I would remember if I remembered something._ _  
_  
“You said you needed those extra shots. You specifically told me that maybe you needed those four extra shots.”  
  
Louis didn’t answer. Harry couldn’t tell if it was shock or disbelief or something else altogether. He hated that he couldn’t see Louis’s expressions, see what he was saying without words.  
  
“So you’ve remembered or almost remembered something each time,” Liam finally concluded after he, Zayn and Niall all shared a look, sagging back into the cushions. “Four shots at the bar, a paper cut, and something Haz said that was probably close in some way to something you heard at the bar, but you don’t remember what he said.”  
  
“That leaves us no closer to knowing whether this is happening because he’s remembering or because Harry’s dreaming though,” Niall sighed, motioning to Louis, who was still shivering. None of them expected they could do anything about it. Those particular memories also left them no closer to figuring out how Louis ended up cursed in the first place.  
  
Once again silence descended between them, just as uncomfortable as it was before.  
  
“Tommo, you’ve got to remember soon,” Zayn finally murmured, elbows on his knees, hands palm over palm with his lips resting on them. He was looking past Harry at Louis’s body, but dragged his gaze away and looked at Harry. “And you’ve got to get him to the club when you fall asleep next.”  
  
He’d already promised Louis he would, and he would, but outside the dream, he had to be real with himself and admit that he didn’t know how he was supposed to do that. He’d never made the conscious decision before. He may have known exactly where they were the last three dreams, but he hadn’t exactly chosen any of them.  
  
 _You can do it, Haz. Like your dozing dreams, yea?_ _  
_  
That idea was worth the shot, but that meant he’d have to fall asleep thinking about that night at the club and fuck. _Fuck_.  
  
 _What? What is it?_ _  
_  
He cast his mind back tentatively, just the barest touch to the memory of sitting around the table with Liam and Zayn after he’d left Louis and Niall on the dance floor, but that scene was almost immediately taken over by Louis’s presence, pressed against his side, arm slung over his shoulder, eyes twinkling as he took the piss out of Zayn and Niall and Harry in turn, the energy rippling just beneath his skin that was suddenly then pressed against Harry’s chest on the dance floor, their hips moving in sync his head pressed to Louis’s neck and Louis’s fingers in his hair and curving around his jaw ** _—_**  
  
His haste to throw himself out of the memory had actually forced a noise, tiny and a mite strangled, past his lips, like he’d been kicked in the stomach.  
  
Zayn’s knees squeezed around one of his own where they were still tangled together. He looked up then, saw the concern and the silent question that had been in those dark eyes for what felt like forever to Harry.  
  
 _Haz?_ _  
_  
He shook his head and then nodded almost in the same moment, pushing back closer to Louis. Even he didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, or who he was even responding to.  
  
With a deep breath, Harry turned away from Zayn and let his eyes roam over Louis’s face, forced himself to take in the shivers rocking his body. He’d do it. He could do it. He’d already told Louis he would.  
  
“And what do we do until then?” he finally asked, turning his focus back to the other lads.  
  
It was only 3:45 after all and he _had_ just woken up.  
  
Niall shifted forward, clapped a hand to Harry’s knee and squeezed, waited until he got Harry’s attention, and smiled the type of devious yet decisive smile that always showed up on Louis’s face when a new prank was forming in his mind.  
  
“Until then we get you as knackered as we can as fast as we bloody can.”  
  
And after that, for the first time in more than a year, Harry was going to have to consciously give in to his mind and let it win.  
  
Fuck.

*

“Burpees.”  
  
“M hm.”  
  
“You want me to do burpees.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
Harry stared at Liam. Liam sipped his tea.  
  
“Burpees.”  
  
“Yes, burpees.”  
  
Louis wouldn’t stop snickering in his head.  
  
“Quiet.”  
  
Liam paused, looked up from his tea.  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“Not you.” He flourished a wave at his head. “That one.”  
  
“Ah.” Liam took another sip, holding the mug with both hands. It made him look like he was some evil conniving son of a-  
  
 _Language, Harold._ _  
  
“-Bitch. Bitch bitch bitch fuck shit fuck fucking shit shit shit fuck.”_  
  
 _Feel better?_  
  
Harry rubbed his temples with both hands then let his arms flop back to his sides.  
  
“Burpees.”  
  
“Do you want a definition or summat?” Niall asked, striding back into the room with a Guinness Harry and Louis always kept stocked for him, plopping down in one of the armchairs with a leg over one arm. He tossed the pair of gym shorts he’d just grabbed from Harry’s room at him. “Or a demonstration?”  
  
“I know what burpees are.” That didn’t mean he willingly ever did them.  
  
“Harry,” Liam sat forward. He was sharing the sofa with Louis right now while Harry had the distinctly unenviable position of standing in the space between the coffee table and the telly. “Not that I think you even want to, but you shouldn’t leave the flat right now and you need to sleep as soon as you can and you just had a surprise kip in the middle of the day. I can’t think of a better way for you to exhaust yourself quickly.”  
  
 _I can._ _  
_  
Harry tried to keep his features straight, tried not to let the pout that wanted to form actually form and absolutely ignored that too-casual-to-be-anything-but-a-very-specific-tease comment from Louis.  
  
“But...burpees, mate. _Burpees_.”  
  
“Yes, burpees.”  
  
 _This is going to be so much fun._ _  
_  
“You will have the worst seat in the house, Lou,” Harry pointed out, finally giving in to the compulsion and crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
 _Not_ petulantly though.  
  
 _Yea, because I can’t sit down. Me bum’s disappeared._  
  
“We won’t though.” Zayn walked back into the room, shoving his phone into his back pocket.  
  
Harry had to take a moment and figure out what Zayn was responding to. Not that Zayn could hear their conversation, but to Harry that sounded like he was saying they wouldn’t leave despite the disappearance of Louis’s bum. Or that they wouldn’t disappear the way Louis’s bum had disappeared.  
  
Oh right, worst seat in the house. Got it. Also, wanker.  
  
 _Told you he was a wanker._ _  
_  
Zayn was a wanker.  
  
He didn't say it though.  
  
Zayn had just been on the phone with Perrie for the past thirty minutes. Harry didn’t know what Liam or Zayn could be talking to their girlfriends about for that long, because he knew they weren’t saying anything about the current situation. He didn’t fault them for wanting and taking the chance to step away and do something far less stressful though.  
  
While he was stuck with Louis in his head and burpees.  
  
Burpees.  
  
 _Least you’ve got me._ _  
_  
And that.  
  
“You want me to do burpees with Lou floating around my head.”  
  
“He’s just in your head, Haz,” Niall snorted, taking another sip of his beer and motioning at Louis and then at Harry with the bottle. “Not like you’ve got a wee toddler sitting on your back.”  
  
 _Did you just...you backstabbing little Irish bastard._ _  
_  
Pout gone. Why had he wanted to pout again? He was very happily grinning now. Huge and dimpled. Niall burst out laughing at the sudden change.  
  
“Tommo, you knew it had to happen. Did you really think we’d go through this whole bloody mix-up and not think at some point that Haz is incubating the strangest wee Yorkshire fetus parasite?”  
  
Harry’s grin dropped and he dropped his head back on his shoulders, prayed for patience and strength and possibly a bat. And he was going to commit alcohol abuse and toss all the Guinness out too.  
  
Maybe he could even catch a pigeon.  
  
“Nialler, please tell me you did not just call me pregnant with Lou.”  
  
“Alright.” Niall took another sip and shrugged. “I did not just call you pregnant with Lou.” He grinned again around the bottle. “At least not in those words.”  
  
Definitely a bat. Definitely a pigeon.  
  
 _I’m going to murder you._ _  
_  
“I’m going to murder you.”  
  
“Looking forward to it, Tommo.”  
  
“What if I get to you first? That could have been me saying that, you know.”  
  
“Harry, you can’t murder an ant. No one’s going to believe that’s coming from you,” Liam pointed out.  
  
“But you believe it from Louis?” How was this fair? Actually, how was _any of this_ fair?  
  
“Of course not. We’re just more used to the threat from him,” Liam countered.  
  
“We’re also very used to him trying to distract us,” Zayn added, making himself comfortable in the other armchair, the one Niall usually chose, near Louis’ side of the sofa. “So that puts you at a disadvantage. Aren’t you supposed to be doing burpees right now?”  
  
Harry groaned, then he moaned, then he pouted for good measure. It did nothing. So with Louis’s laughter echoing through his head, he undid his jeans and pulled them off, throwing them deliberately at Niall’s smug backstabbing Irish face before shoving the shorts on.  
  
 _”The things I bloody do for you.”_ _  
_  
 _Aw, Hazza. I’m touched, mate, fucking touched. ...At least I think I’m touched. Can’t feel anything after all._ _  
_  
Harry was definitely going to renegotiate his contract.

*

  
  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes, 65 burpees, five too-short-breaks-in-between, and the weirdest, most ridiculous personal-trainer comments in his head later, Harry wasn’t exhausted.  
  
He was dead.  
  
Or actually: dying. Dying was more accurate. He was in the process of becoming dead.  
  
So dying.  
  
Very nearly there.  
  
He wasn’t exactly a stranger to working out, but he’d never worked out with the sole purpose of dying.  
  
Liam. Liam was truly a conniving little burpee bastard.  
  
High Intensity Interval Training, he’d called it. No, he’d called it HIIT first and that was halfway through Harry’s torment and left him this close to HIITing Liam with his fist.  
  
Liam wasn’t an ant, after all.  
  
But he’d lost that chance now. Because flat on his back, spread-eagled in front of the telly, Harry didn’t think he could move. He was surprised his lungs were still working, double-time, over-time actually. Traitors.  
  
“What has happened to my life?” He wondered up at the ceiling. Because inanimate objects were his only true friends left.  
  
“A great deal that will never happen to most people,” Zayn commented. He hadn’t left the armchair the entire time Harry was actively killing himself, alternating between playing some game on his phone and just watching Harry kill himself. Another traitor.  
  
“I can’t feel anything.” Surely those weird trembles weren’t from him.  
  
 _Welcome to my humble corner, Haz. Population: two now._ _  
_  
Too tired, he tried to groan and say Louis’s name at the same time, which had the unfortunate effect of mixing up into him just moaning out ‘Lou’. If he weren’t so dead he might actually be embarrassed at how pornographic it sounded even to his own ears.  
  
And it definitely did not have the power to instill the fear and obedience needed to make anyone be quiet, much less Louis.  
  
Niall tossed the pen from the coffee table at Harry. It hit him in the arm. And of course for all that he couldn’t feel, he could still feel that.  
  
“You should have warned us that exercise was a turn on for you _first_ , mate.”  
  
“Pain kink, huh?”  
  
Harry had no idea how Zayn could say that so casually.  
  
“I seriously dislike you all. I’m too tired to come up with something more threatening. Just let me die in peace.”  
  
He felt so relieved to no longer be dropping down and jumping back and planking and jumping up and squatting and dropping down and jumping up and squatting and planking and jumping and squatting and planking and ** _—_**  
  
 ** _—_** he could almost, _almost_ sleep right here.  
  
He wasn’t sure if it would be sleep or simply losing consciousness though. And that might be a problem.  
  
“Can’t do.” Niall slid down the armchair so he could stretch out his leg and nudge Harry’s corpse with his toe. “You’re not done yet.”  
  
He moaned again, but this time without the ‘Lou’.  
  
“What more do you want from me?” Alright that definitely had a bit of a whinge to it. Liam just laughed at it though.  
  
“You’re as dramatic as Tommo. Proper pair, you are. Nialler’s right though. You still need to make us all supper, do some more burpees, and have a shower before you set foot in Tommo’s bed.”  
  
“He deserves it.” And if a shower didn’t sound so perfect he’d make good on that threat too.  
  
 _Haz, we both know you’d just feel sorry and change me linens and wash those anyway._ _  
_  
Harry sighed. He truly couldn’t win. This was what he got for being nice all the time.  
  
“I’m sure he does for one reason or t’other,” Zayn said, glancing over at Louis, his tone too light to be anything but another joke at Harry’s expense. “But the shower isn’t because we’re worried about his bed, mate. That’s to make you nice and docile and sleepy.”  
  
He was too tired to be impressed that they all understood what he meant by ‘he deserves it’ too.  
  
“I _am_ nice.”  
  
“Nice enough to make us some nosh?” Niall asked, nudging him with his foot again. Harry grunted, rolled over onto his stomach and Frankenstein’ed himself back into something close to a human being.  
  
“Such a nice lad!” Niall called out as he dragged himself into the kitchen.

*

At least they were all kind enough to keep him company in the kitchen. Though that maybe also had something to do with the way Louis looked right now. Harry wasn’t the only one casting furtive glances towards the living room sofa even if he couldn’t see the sofa from where he stood in the kitchen. It was hard not to feel like something was terribly, terribly wrong, looking at Louis’s body now.  
  
So maybe that’s why Zayn and Niall had followed him in only a few minutes later, why Liam kept himself in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed and right leg up to press his foot into the wood. From there he could be with them and keep an eye on Louis at the same time. The distance made Louis’ shaking less noticeable and also kept Liam as far away from the onions Zayn was currently chopping at the island as possible.  
  
Harry had felt his arm tremble just from opening the fridge to see what they had. He’d finally settled on what his mum called a Peasant’s Stew, because it was just throwing whatever you had in a giant pot. So he’d plucked out celery, courgettes, peppers, onions, potatoes, found two boxes of vegetable broth and a couple cubes of chicken bouillon, three breasts of thawed chicken and plopped it all out on the island in a giant heap.  
  
Well, not the chicken. None of them needed food poisoning on top of everything else.  
  
Even if Liam was a conniving bastard and Niall was a backstabbing prat and Zayn was a wanker, pure and simple.  
  
Harry was still too nice to give them all food poisoning.  
  
 _You should tell Zayn he’s a wanker though._ _  
_  
“You know, one thing hasn’t changed in all this,” Niall mused, sitting at the island and peeling the potatoes ** _—_** they’d already gotten out the Irish potato jokes ** _—_** while Harry took care of melting butter in the the giant pot waiting on the hob.  
  
“What?” Liam asked from the doorway, partly behind Niall.  
  
Niall shrugged, but that grin was playing about his lips again.  
  
“We’re making food and Tommo’s not helping.”  
  
 _Oi. I’m always helping, you git. Someone’s got to eat it._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled, taking the board with chopped onions from Zayn and pouring them into the base of the pot, letting them begin to simmer in the melted butter coating the bottom.  
  
“Aye, someone does. And you’re going to do a bloody brilliant job of it this time aren’t you. But I’m happy to take that role,” Niall returned when Harry repeated Louis’s words. “You just make a nuisance o’ yourself.”  
  
“Be nice, Nialler,” Zayn cut in, making quick work of chopping the potatoes as Niall handed them to him. He winked. “Being a nuisance is hard work. I’m sure it took Tommo a lot of practice.”  
  
 _The term you tits are looking for is menace._ _  
_  
“I think the term they’re looking for is ‘little shit’,” Harry finally spoke out loud, unable to hold it back.  
  
Liam snorted at that, grinning himself, as though he didn’t even need to hear what Louis had said. But he asked anyway.  
  
“What term is he thinking?”  
  
“Menace.” Harry paused to look over his shoulder at Liam and flash him a grin to go with the word.  
  
“Well,” Liam shrugged, looked out towards the living room sofa for a moment then back again, “if the shoe fits...”  
  
 _If the shoe fits it’s big enough to throw at your fucking head._ _  
_  
Harry burst out laughing. He was feeling drained enough that everything was starting to seem funny, like he was getting a bit loopy. He glanced at the clock over the cooktop. Almost 5. Absolutely no reason for him to be loopy yet. Conniving Liam must’ve been on to something.  
  
 _Or, now hear me out here, Haz: you’re_ ** _always_** _loopy._ _  
_  
He was too loopy to deny it.  
  
He was definitely not too loopy to deny Liam when the bastard told him while the stew was simmering that it was time to do more burpees though.

_You know, I think I have the best seat in the house, actually._ _  
_  
Harry was in the middle of jumping back into a plank in what was his fourth burpee in the kitchen and already didn’t have the breath to speak. But it didn’t take breath to think.  
  
 _“Sure you do...Alice.”_ _  
_  
Louis cursed him out again and Harry burst out laughing so hard that his arms collapsed under the plank and he fell to the floor, rolling over onto his back.  
  
“What...what’s happening?” Zayn asked, utterly bewildered.  
  
Harry didn’t bother getting up, but he opened his eyes to see Zayn and Niall both leaning over him, peering down curiously.  
  
He flashed them a bright, bright, dimply grin.  
  
“Called Lou ‘Alice’ a while back. He still doesn’t get it and lads, _lads **—**_ ” he waved his arms up above him towards their faces, laughing again and flopping his hands somewhere near his head on the floor, palms up, “it’s the best bloody feeling.”  
  
“I think his noggin is finally going,” Niall stage-whispered to Zayn. Harry just held his arms up again towards the two of them and this time they each took a hand, helping him to his feet.  
  
Careful to only imagine what he was about to write down by pretending he was watching Zayn spray paint it on a white wall rather than mentally verbalize it, Harry grabbed the pad of paper on the island and scribbled, without looking, one single word, in time with Zayn spray-painting it in his mind. Then he held the paper at chest height so Niall, Zayn, and Liam could all read it.  
  
Slow smiles spread across their faces and then Niall snickered.  
  
“Gone down a bit of a rabbit hole there trying to figure it out, have you, Tommo?” Zayn stretched his arms up above and then settled his palms against the back of his head, the epitome of comfort and ease.  
  
“I _wonder_ why you haven’t figured it out yet,” Liam added from the doorway. He tipped his head to the side against the frame. “What _land_ are you from again?”  
  
 _Land where murdering you lot isn’t a bloody crime._ _  
_  
After Harry told them, a grin spread over Niall’s face, as big as ever.  
  
“You can’t figure out what a simple lad from Cheshire means?” he asked, mimicking Zayn and stretching his back in a caricature of cat-like contentment. “Keep up, Tommo.”  
  
 _You lot better watch your backs. You’re all dead to me now._ _  
_  
“Well, considering I _could_ keep watch with one eye fucking closed and fall asleep keeping watch and _still_ not have to worry,” Niall nodded towards Louis’ still-unmoving body in the other room, winking, “reckon I’m in the clear. What d’you say, lads?”  
  
But before they could answer, Louis’s voice erupted through Harry’s head.  
  
 _ALICE IN FUCKING WONDERLAND? REALLY? YOU FUCKING COMPARED ME TO ALICE?_ _  
_  
Loud enough to startle but not hurt, it did the trick and Harry both jumped and started laughing again in the same instant, half-folding over the island, almost falling right back to the floor and barely managing to get out, “He got it.”  
  
Of course, then they were all laughing.  
  
“I can’t believe it took you this long,” Harry admitted breathlessly, absolutely reveling in this moment of utter glory.  
  
 _Of course it bloody did. Because it doesn’t make_ ** _sense_** _, you twat. What makes you think your head is a fucking wonderland? Already told you not to list this place on Location, Location, Location._ _  
_  
Harry shrugged, but immediately gave himself a point because Louis had just called him a twat.  
  
 _You do not get a bloody point for that._ _  
_  
”Course I do. In the rules.”  
  
 _It’s in the rules if I_ ** _only_** _call you a twat, you twat._ _  
_  
Another point.  
  
 _Harold!_ _  
_  
Harry deliberately made sure not to think or say anything, composing himself enough to grab down four bowls and ladle stew into them before handing them to the lads.  
  
“You still fell down a rabbit hole and I personally think my mind is wonderland,” he said as he all but fell onto the sofa next to Louis, only controlling himself enough not to spill the stew. He shoved the empty spoon in his mouth and looked over at Louis, talking around it. “So that makes you Alice.”  
  
 _Right now I’m the bloody Queen of Hearts, you tit. Off with all your fucking heads, if you’ve still got them between your legs anymore._ _  
_  
“Don’t leave us hanging, Haz,” Niall cut in, stirring his stew to cool it off some. So Harry paused to relay back all that Louis had said as best he could.  
  
Liam snorted when he finished, blowing on a spoonful.  
  
“Queen of Hearts? Mad Hatter more like.” He shoved the spoonful in his mouth.  
  
“Curiouser and curiouser!” Zayn added after he’d swallowed a bite.  
  
“So _that’s_ why Tommo’s the way he is,” Niall mused, eyes a bit wide like one universal mystery had just been solved. “Mercury poisoning.”  
  
“What?” Liam asked around a laugh and his spoon.  
  
“That’s where it comes from. Way back hatters made hats using mercury. Got mercury poisoning. Why they all went mad.”  
  
 _Nialler, you really know the strangest shit. Even for the Irish._ _  
_  
“Thought you had to be wasted to spout shit like that,” Zayn added without knowing he was adding, looking very much confused.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure which of them he agreed with more.  
  
 _Me, Haz. Always me._


	12. Chapter 12

Their evil plan was working.  
  
Begrudgingly, Harry was impressed.  
  
Liam was still a conniving bastard though.  
  
With his body already exhausted from the burpees, and now his stomach full and sated, Harry thought he could fall asleep right here on the sofa even though it was only half six.  
  
He let the chatter of the other three fade into the background, floating a bit as he rested his head on his arm against the side of the sofa.  
  
“Hey.” He opened his eyes when a hand bumped his arm-pillow, found Zayn leaning close enough to reach him. “Why don’t you have a shower now. Then you can get some sleep.”  
  
“It’s only half six,” he groaned, forcing himself to sit back upright again.  
  
“So?” Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “The sooner you fall asleep the better, right? Tomorrow’s Monday. We’ve got a photo shoot at 2. And we might be able to get out of that, but we can’t get out of the Brits on Tuesday. We’re lucky our rehearsal for that was last week.”  
  
Fuck. That didn’t leave them much time at all.  
  
“We could put on Lord of the Rings? Nice and long. That should help you get tired, right?” Niall asked, proving that he had very much misinterpreted what Zayn had said. Harry was too tired to call him out on it.  
  
“Can’t. If I’m getting Lou to the club I have to fall asleep thinking about the club. I think.” Actually he did _not_ want to think about the club or think about thinking about the club right now. “Either way, last thing we need is a dream where we’re both stuck in Middle Earth fighting orcs.”  
  
“You think you wouldn’t _be_ the orcs?” Liam asked curiously, surprised.  
  
Louis blew a half-raspberry and that, _that_ , sounded really weird in Harry’s head. How was that even possible? If Louis technically didn’t have lips right now how could he ** _—_**  
  
 _Lads, I’d be a fucking wizard._ _  
_  
“But I thought you said you weren’t a virgin,” Niall teased when Harry repeated that, causing the others to grin. “Can’t be a wizard if you’ve fucked before you’re twenty, mate.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat, crossed his arms over his chest, ignored the way Zayn turned to look at him.  
  
“That’s thirty, Nialler. You’re a wizard if you haven’t fucked by thirty.”  
  
“Now who has the strangest piece of knowledge?” Niall countered, causing Harry to roll his eyes.  
  
 _Something to say, Curly?_

Louis sounded as teasing as Niall.  
  
Yes. Yes he did have something to say. He just had to figure out what it was first. Besides that he was knackered. He frowned, squinted a bit to try and remember what he could say. Something about hobbits, he thought. Or about the fact that he in no way could be a wizard either.  
  
“He’s halfway asleep already,” Zayn pointed out, motioning at Harry when after a few very-obvious moments Harry said nothing to counter Niall. “Shower and a cuppa and I don’t think he’ll be awake much longer.”  
  
“I thought Lou was the toddler in all this,” Harry muttered, finally coming up with something to say. He crossed his arms over his chest as petulantly as Louis had over the Donny Rovers jersey thing. “No need to make it sound like I’m refusing to go to bed, you know.”  
  
“Technically you just were. Have a wash, you’ll feel better.” Zayn pushed at his arm until Harry finally complied, standing up and dragging himself from the room.

*

  
  
  
  
He just stood under the spray, head against his chest, palms pressed to the wall on either side of the tap.  
  
This was the first wash today where he really truly needed it, to wash the sweat and grime of 69 burpees ** _—_** of course it was 69, of course ** _—_** off his body. The water felt nothing short of heaven on his muscles so naturally it was his turn to moan in the shower. But that was as similar as the two showers could be, for his sanity. He’d be too tired to ** _—_**....too tired this time.  
  
So before Louis had finished chuckling in his head over his shameless moaning, Harry asked, eyes still closed, “Do you remember anything about where you go, Lou?”  
  
In the last dream, between the dreams, when he wasn’t there.  
  
Louis sighed. Harry couldn’t tell if it was one of annoyance that he was asking again, or resignation because the answer hadn’t changed.  
  
But the answer hadn’t changed.  
  
 _No. Don’t even realize I have._ _  
_  
Harry couldn’t decide if he liked that answer or not. Maybe Louis didn’t actually go anywhere. Maybe it was some weird glitch in the matrix, like because Louis was in the wrong body time wasn’t working the same for him.  
  
 _Maybe you’re right about that. Don’t make this bigger than it is, Haz._ _  
_  
“Hard not to,” he admitted, turning around so the spray could hit his back. “Don’t think I can help it.” How could he? Waking up this last time to find Louis’s body like that and not hearing him for those few minutes had been, well, if he was honest, a bit terrifying.  
  
 _You can help it._ _  
_  
Harry snorted, but it lacked any sort of intensity.  
  
“How.”  
  
 _You’re confusing ‘not being there’ with ‘gone’, you git. And I’m not...I’m just not there yet._

Louis sighed.

 _Come on, Haz. You know I don’t like waking up. Just because I don’t have my body doesn’t mean that part’s changed._ _  
_  
Harry finally turned for the soap, washing off again.  
  
“Well, think you could tone down the ‘don’t want to wake up yet’ a bit?” he asked, teasing lightly for his sanity. “Just until you get your body back? That’d be much appreciated. Swell really.”  
  
 _Sure. I’ll just pop that on top of me fucking list of ‘most important things to do right now’._ _  
_  
“And I promise not to wake you up for at least a week, how’s that?”  
  
 _You think I’m even going to want to sleep? Think I’ve had enough to last me all bloody tour._ _  
_  
“Please don’t try to test that,” Harry whinged, begged, pleaded, laughed. “Haven’t we all been through enough?”  
  
 _Harry, you really think this is over when I get me body back?_ _  
_  
Oh no. No no no. Nope. Nope.  
  
 _Yes. Yes, Haz. If you think I’m giving you lot a single moment of peace you must still be dreaming right_ _now._ _  
_  
He had to warn the other lads. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Louis had been asleep now for an entire weekend and the amount of energy he must be storing up was going to explode _all over them_. Liam was going to be on permanent watch duty making sure that nothing was broken in the next week and he could only imagine what their photo shoot would look like. Probably something close to photographic proof of a crime scene if Louis had his way.  
  
They all needed to prepare a plan, possibly one that did in fact involve ropes.  
  
Louis laughed.  
  
 _Again with the bondage. The things I’m learning about you, Haz._ _  
_  
“Yea, now you know I’m not above tying you up to save my own skin.”  
  
He turned off the water and stepped out, opting for a new towel, seeing as the last one was still wet from the shower he’d had only a few hours ago. He felt less like a robot now, his muscles more willing to move. Unfortunately the only movement his muscles all wanted to do was ‘down.’ He pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms on, didn’t bother with pants, could only do so much with his hair when he wasn’t looking in the mirror - quick comb through and some product so it wouldn’t frizz into a mess - before padding back out towards the living room.

Zayn was right, he did feel much better. But Zayn was also a traitor who had been a part of the burpees fiasco, so Harry wasn’t about to tell him how right he was. Wanker.  
  
 _You should tell him he’s a wanker though._ _  
_  
“Hey, feel better?” Zayn asked the moment Harry rounded the end of the wall and came into the living room.  
  
Harry stopped, looked right at Zayn.  
  
“No.” He crossed his ** _—_**  
  
 _Don’t cross your bloody arms or he’ll see through it, you tit._ _  
_  
 ** _—_** dropped his arms back to his sides and walked into the room, deliberately not looking at the amused smirk on Zayn’s face.  
  
 _Honestly, Haz, have you still not learned anything about how to lie?_ _  
_  
 _“I’m a brilliant liar.”_  
  
Louis burst out laughing.  
  
 _You’re an absolute shit liar._ _  
_  
 _“Only because I’m so good you don’t even know when I’m not telling the truth.”_ _  
  
Prove it. Tell me one.  
  
“Mm. Maybe later.”  
  
Because you’re a shit liar._  
  
Because some truths were better left where they were. Let sleeping demons lie. That was the saying, right?  
  
 _What **—**_ _  
_  
“Harry.” He blinked, looked up to see that he’d stopped halfway to the sofa, Zayn now standing right next to him. When he met Zayn’s eyes, Zayn squeezed his arm, circled a finger around his temple and grinned. “You with us? Back from Lou Lou Land?”  
  
He scrunched up his nose and held up a finger in front of Zayn’s, even as Louis proceeded to call Zayn a wanker several times over.  
  
And Harry proceeded to once again not tell Zayn, even if he did agree with Louis.  
  
“Technically it’s my land. He’s just the squatter.”  
  
 _Colonizer. Conqueror._ _  
_  
Not going there.  
  
“M hm.” Niall clapped his hands together and moved on from Harry’s comment as though it had no merit whatsoever. “Sleepy yet?”  
  
Harry scrubbed his hand over his face, rubbed his fingers into his eyes before he dropped his hand and looked over towards Niall.  
  
“Y-yea...” Niall was sitting next to Louis this time and Harry looked over at just the moment when another tremble rocked up Louis’s body. Suddenly he didn’t feel so sleepy anymore.  
  
He felt...heavy, like his whole body wanted to shut down and sleep, but not his wee sweet creature of a heart, which started pounding against the bars of his ribs, like some sort of instinctual reaction to remembering that Louis was like this, the way he’d instinctively tightened his hold on Louis rather than drop him earlier.  
  
He dragged in a deliberately slow breath, complete with closing his eyes to make sure it stayed slow. He needed to sleep and now he wondered if he could even fall asleep. And maybe if he fisted his hands it would stop his brain from remembering what Louis had looked like when he was remembering in the last dream, could forget that somehow he had to get Louis to the club and he wasn’t sure if he could do it or what would happen if he _did_ but if he didn’t what would-  
  
 _HARRY._ _  
_  
He jumped, startled, eyes shooting open again to find the three of them watching him curiously, Liam having appeared in the doorway to the kitchen without him noticing.  
  
“I need tea,” he managed, quickly turning away from them and ducking past Liam into the kitchen.  
  
 _Haz, relax. You gotta relax, ok?_ _  
_  
“I’m trying. I’m trying I swear I’m trying.” His speech came out faster than his usual, proving how relaxed he actually felt.  
  
 _Alright, I believe you. Just breathe, yea?_ _  
_  
Harry nodded mutely, didn’t trust his voice after that very obvious and very terrible attempt to say the opposite of what he felt.  
  
With the kettle on, Harry paced to the kitchen table and back, realized he was pacing, crossed his arms and leaned back against the worktop near the kettle, realized that wasn’t helping, paced again and finally fell onto one of the island stools. Louis stayed quiet, but Harry had the vague feeling it was because he was just watching a bit warily. Figuratively, of course.  
  
He reached for the pad of paper and ripped off the top sheet, the one that still had ‘Wonderland’ written on it from when he’d let the other lads in on the ‘Alice’ joke earlier. Picking up the pen, he started scribbling, just drawing random circles because it gave him something to do.  
  
 _Haz, I think the kettle’s done._ _  
_  
Louis’s voice dragged him from the memory and he focused on the paper, realized that one of his many loops and circles had turned into the @ sign, that he was tracing over and over and over the sequence, yet again.  
  
 **@978/** **  
**  
He snapped the pen down on the notepad and stood up, half-muttering a thanks to Louis even as he poured the water into his waiting mug. Just one mug this time.  
  
Least he got that right.  
  
“I would have made that for you,” Liam said from the doorway. Harry didn’t know if he’d been standing there the whole time, or had come back after giving him some time alone ** _—_** well, with Louis ** _—_** before coming back.  
  
Harry stared down at his lone mug.  
  
“Fuck. I should have asked if any of you wanted a cuppa. I’m sorry, Payno, I didn’t ** _—_** " Harry cut off and jerked the kettle up to refill it.  
  
“You’ve got a wee bit on your mind, mate,” Niall pointed out as he stepped into the kitchen, heading for the kitchen table where his coat was draped over the back of one of the chairs. He dug around in several of the pockets then pulled out a Galaxy bar. He looked up and winked. “And a Tommo on top of all that.”  
  
Harry sighed, flicking the kettle back on before Liam waved him away, reaching for mugs to prepare three more. Niall sat down, bum on the table, feet on the chair, facing into the kitchen and towards Harry. From there he could also still see into the living room, Harry noticed.  
  
“So. What’s got you wigging now?”  
  
“Besides doubting I can actually get Lou to the club?” Harry blurted before he could stop himself, sighing and letting his head hang, staring into the dark depths of his tea. Niall patted the table next to him and Harry came to sit on the table as Niall tore the wrapper open.  
  
“Aye. Besides that, because I think you’ve been doubting that from the beginning. What caused you to start wigging out there just now?”  
  
How could he possibly put everything he was feeling into words? He shifted, took a small sip of his tea ** _—_** still too hot ** _—_** before trying.  
  
“In the last dream, when Lou remembered something, it was ** _—_** "  
  
 _Harry, I did_ ** _not_** _faint._ _  
_  
“I know you say you didn’t but that’s not what it looked like to me.”  
  
 _But I_ ** _didn’t_** _._ _  
_  
“You still went somewhere!”  
  
“Haz, Tommo.” Niall leaned forwards so he could peer directly into Harry’s face; they’d all been doing that a lot more lately, like that was the physical way of looking at Louis without looking at him. “What happened?”  
  
So Harry relayed exactly what had happened, how it had looked to him, making Louis’s opinion very clear as well. Liam had been listening while he prepared the tea and came to sit in the chair at the head of the table when he was done, but didn’t interrupt.  
  
“And if that happened from a paper cut, I can’t ** _—_**...I don’t ** _—_**...what the fuck is going to happen when he remembers everything?”  
  
Liam motioned to the third mug of tea on the table next to him when Zayn came in at that moment. Harry didn’t know where Zayn had been, probably out on the balcony having a smoke, since Harry could smell the smoke a little more than usual right now. Zayn sat down next to Liam, the question in his eyes as he surveyed the room, but he didn’t ask.  
  
“Well.” Niall broke the silence after he finished chewing. “It’s probably going to happen again. And I think you’re both right.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Niall peeled the wrapper open further and took another bite, chewing slowly, thinking. Once he swallowed again, he said, “Tommo, you probably did go somewhere, but he probably wasn’t really going to faint, Haz.”  
  
“So what was it then?” Liam finally said, looking just as curious as Harry felt.  
  
It took what felt like too long for Niall to get his thoughts in order, the entire rest of the chocolate bar, in fact, while they were all silently waiting for him to speak.  
  
Well, almost all silently.  
  
 _No need to fucking rush there, Nialler,_ Louis drawled.  
  
“Alright.” Niall said right as Louis finished in Harry’s head. He licked his fingers, crumpled up the wrapper and leaned his arms over his knees. “Look. I’ve been doing some research into dreams, since they seem to be the key to all this.”  
  
“You have?” Harry had no idea when, but for some reason it surprised him. Niall had his laptop with him, had brought it back after a trip home for some things the same way Zayn had, but he hadn’t put two and two together. He hoped Niall didn’t take his surprise as an insult.  
  
But Niall’s eyes were shining with amusement when he paused to glance at Harry.  
  
“Course I have. What’d you think we were giving you before? Fucking lip service?” He shrugged. “We can’t ** _—_** " he motioned to Liam and Zayn and himself by circling his finger, “ ** _—_** dream for you, but someone’s gotta help you find the magical bird bath and then teach you twats how you’re gonna wash the bird shite off, yea?”  
  
 _Nialler, who hurt you. Seriously._ _  
_  
As Harry groaned and laughed and repeated Louis all at the same time, he swore he heard Liam lean over to Zayn and whisper, “I think we’ve missed something with that.”  
  
Niall waved a hand, dismissing all of them and their comments.  
  
“Point is, what you’re saying happened to Tommo doesn’t really surprise me. And it’ll probably happen again.”  
  
“And this is supposed to make me feel better?” Harry questioned, incredulous. Niall backhanded his shoulder lightly.  
  
“Drink your cuppa and let me fucking finish.”  
  
Harry took a sip under Niall’s watchful gaze.  
  
“Alright. Well, we know Tommo has to remember what happened to break the curse, yea? And we know the memory is there, just probably hidden by magic or sommat, right?” He waited for Harry to nod each time before continuing, “Well, that means it’s subconscious. And normally the way we all get to the fucking subconscious is through things like dreams, or getting really fucking stroppy. Any time we’re not really thinking, yea?”

Harry nodded again and Niall looked rather pleased with him.

“So Tommo has to access his subconscious to get the memory. And if he’s not really fucking pissed in either sense of the word, he’s gotta do it in dreams.”  
  
“But, he’s not dreaming. Harry is,” Zayn pointed out, nursing his own cup between both palms on the table.  
  
Niall shot him with a finger gun.  
  
“Exactly. Now you’re suckin’ diesel.” He turned back to Harry. “You’re the one asleep, Haz. But Tommo, you’re awake. You’ve been awake since you woke up in Haz’s Wonderland yesterday morning.”

He leaned back on the heels of his hands and continued before Harry or Louis could comment on his turn of phrase.

Not that neither of them didn’t try, of course. Because _that_ did not have the same tease to it that Harry’s ‘Alice’ joke had.

“So maybe what looks like fainting to you, Haz, is the only way that Tommo can get to the memories while he’s still awake. And your mind probably s’made it look like fainting because it’s somehow gotta translate Tommo going into his subconscious and not being with you while he’s doing it.”  
  
“So...what? I’m just supposed to...what?” Harry didn’t know exactly how to process this. It made sense, in a way, in the way that dreams always made sense to him, which was very little. He assumed Louis was so quiet because he was trying to process it too.  
  
“Let it happen.” Niall shrugged, finally reaching for the tea Liam had set at his side a few minutes ago and taking a sip. He nodded at Harry again, pointing at his eyes and then Harry’s. “Tommo, you need to remember. And the last thing we need is you fighting remembering because you think you’ve got to fucking prove to Haz you’re not fainting. Just let it happen. You’re probably not fainting, just looking like that to Harry because how else can his mind process what you’re fucking doing.”  
  
Louis scoffed.  
  
 _Haz’s mind can never process what I’m fucking doing._ _  
  
“Because you never make sense, yippy Yorkie.”  
  
I’m not the fucking alien here, remember?  
_  
Harry smirked.  
  
 _“Remembering a lot more than you are right now.”_ _  
  
How about I show you exactly how much I bloody remember, you-_  
  
Niall was snapping his fingers in front of his face.

Harry blinked, sucked in a breath, shook his head to remember what Niall had just told him to do. And that-  
  
“You want me to just ** _—_** "  
  
“Yea, Haz. It might be in dreams, but he’s got someone on the outside, if you like, who can pull him out of it. Trust your instincts. But if it happens again, don’t pull him out so quick, yea? Maybe he’ll remember more. He needs to.”  
  
“Well that makes sense then why it happened in the last dream,” Liam spoke up, tilting his head to the side and drumming his fingers against the side of his mug. “I mean, you dreamed you were here, right? What safer place is there than our own homes? I know I’m more likely to let go at mine. It happened here, with you, Haz, to keep watch. Probably happens because you’re there to pull him out of it if you need to. And you know you can.”  
  
 _What, like I’m letting me fucking guard down and that’s the only way to do this? I let me fucking guard down all the time._ _  
_  
“You rarely let your guard down,” Zayn countered after Harry relayed that, shrugging and quickly holding up his hands, as though he knew Louis would want to argue even if he couldn’t hear it. “Just an observation, Tommo. None of us really can anymore. Not completely.”  
  
Harry agreed. He never let his guard down if he wanted to survive. Hadn’t fully let his guard down for well over a year now. Except wasn’t that exactly what he was going to have to do soon just to get Louis back into the club?  
  
“It’s dreams. It’s all subconscious. You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it, Tommo, and you probably won’t next time,” Niall said before the thought about what Harry was about to do could fully form in Harry’s mind, take root deep in his bones and rattle him right up again. “Look, no one is saying that either of you are deliberately doing any of this. That’s not how dreams fucking work from what I read. None of this is that deliberate.” He focused back on Harry. “Which is probably why you’re doubting that you can dream about the club.”  
  
“Well what if I can’t?”  
  
“You might not need to. It’s a thought, a great one, but Tommo might not need to go back to the club to remember. Just may make it easier.” Liam tapped his fingers on his mug, studying Harry. “Just don’t put so much stock into it. You might have to let your guard down a bit too, Haz.”  
  
“But, I-“ And even though he’d _just_ been thinking the same thing, his heart still flew up into his throat and choked off the last word; he instinctively looked at Zayn just in time to see Zayn’s eyes narrow and he knew that Zayn understood exactly what he’d been about to say.  
  
“Yea, you can. And what’ll happen will happen,” Zayn said slowly. “If you haven’t consciously chosen anywhere in these dreams, you’re probably not going to do it now if you don’t just let it happen on some level.”  
  
“Just don’t think about it so much that you work yourself up,” Niall added, nudging his shoulder. “You got this, you know. You had nerves when you auditioned for X-Factor too and you still did it. You’ll go where you need to go.”  
  
“Yea, but I also had Lou,” he mumbled without thinking, sinking a bit over himself, empty mug now on the table in between his legs. It was true. They may have just met at that point, but that’s exactly how it felt looking back on it now. It felt like he had had Louis with him from the beginning.  
  
Niall heard him though, because he clapped a hand to his shoulder and squeezed, rocking Harry slightly.  
  
“And you won’t now? No matter where you end up next dream, you’re gonna be stuck with him there too. That’s a whole lot of dreaming of the same person, mate.”  
  
 _Mm. Someone’s a lucky lad._ _  
_  
Harry snorted to cover any other sound he might make.  
  
“What, like your Donny Jesus moment?” He looked up, somewhat challenging, eager to get out of the spotlight of conversation. “What’d all your dream research tell you about that?”  
  
Niall laughed, unfazed. Nothing fazed him. It was almost, _almost_ annoying.  
  
“Don’t know, really. Forgot about that. Wee more pressing matters, after all.” He cocked his head to the side, scratching at his arm with his mug. “Probably some part of myself that was hiding, trying not to be noticed but forced to anyway. Whatever part of meself it is, my mind translated it into Tommo. Can’t tell you why on that though; must be something about him that my mind decided was the same. Either way,” he clapped Harry’s shoulder again, “feeling a wee bit calmer now?”  
  
Harry inhaled, realized it wasn’t quite as shaky as he’d expected it to be.  
  
“A bit, yea,” he admitted, smiling again.  
  
“Enough to try and sleep?”  
  
“Enough to be able to lie down and hopefully just...fall asleep.”  
  
“And you, Tommo? Alright now that you know you’re not going to faint?”  
  
 _Always knew I wasn’t, mate._ _  
_  
“Good. Good good,” Niall grinned, as though he’d expected that answer, hopping off the table as Liam and Zayn both stood up as well. “Then let’s get the two of you to bed now, yea?”  
  
Harry groaned, just at the thought of having to get Louis back to his bedroom.  
  
 _Serves you lot right for bringing me out here in the fucking first place._ _  
_  
“I’m lucky I can lift my tea.” Like an overgrown, slow-talking Oliver Twist, he held up his empty mug with both hands to prove that point. “You killed me with burpees, remember?”  
  
“You definitely need no help from us to off yourself, mate. And he’s not staying in my bed when he’s got his own.” Niall plucked the mug from Harry’s hands and placed it in the sink on his way to toss his wrapper in the rubbish bin. “Besides, fucking easier to keep an eye on the both of you if you’re in the same place.”  
  
 _Looks like you get your favourite bed again, Haz, the bloody sofa._ _  
_  
Now that Harry thought about it, he knew they could both fit. And if all this was sorted, he’d sacrifice his back every time if it meant Louis would wake up.  
  
“Lou’s right, we can both stay on the sofa. You can take his bed tonight.”  
  
“You do realize that makes no sense, right?” Zayn said, leaning against the sink where he’d just placed his and Liam’s mugs, arms crossed. “Not just because we know what sleeping on the sofa does to your back, but you’re the one having a kip now, not us. We’re not giving up the entire living room and the telly and the X-Box just so you can sleep there.”  
  
 _Should have thought of that before you all let him fucking carry me out here then, wanker._ _  
_  
Harry wasn’t going to repeat that, but when Louis insisted, Harry was a mite too knackered to argue, so he told Zayn.  
  
But he left off the wanker.  
  
 _Wanker._ _  
_  
“I’ll do it,” Liam cut in from the doorway. When they all looked at him, he shrugged, glanced into the living room and back to them again. “I’ll carry him back. Haz is right: if he can do it so can I. It’s fine.”  
  
Louis started cursing again, too fast and constant for Harry to repeat it proper, though he did try, which only made Liam smirk. Well, Harry had said he was a conniving bastard. Now it was Louis’s turn to be on the end of that.  
  
 _Just go, Haz._ _  
_  
“Kinda hard to do that,” Harry pointed out in a slight sing-song, following Liam and Niall out into the living room. He’d said the words quietly, but Zayn heard him, because he’d just come to stand beside him at that moment.  
  
 _Order still stands._ _  
_  
“Hey, least you were right about one thing.”  
  
 _I’m right about a lot of things. Which one this time?_ _  
_  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“That that was the last time I’d carry you.” The words were spoken lightly enough, even if they didn’t feel quite right to say. Harry wasn’t about to try and pick apart that feeling though. So he crossed his arms over his chest instead as Liam and Niall rounded the front of the sofa.  
  
Louis huffed.  
  
 _Just go brush your fucking teeth._ _  
_  
“Hey,” Zayn nudged his arm, a bit hesitantly, as though he were trying to gage the best time to butt in with only hearing one side of the conversation that Harry was clearly having. “It’s more important for you to be asleep, so don’t worry about keeping watch, alright? We’ll do that.”  
  
He hadn’t actually thought of that, but knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up in the middle of the dreams was a huge weight on his shoulders that just lifted off.  
  
“Cheers, mate.”  
  
Zayn nodded, looking away when his attention was taken and Harry followed his gaze to the sofa just as Liam lifted Louis up.

He did it a lot more smoothly than Harry had. At least, Liam wasn't shifting Louis’s weight as much. But from this side, Harry could easily see why Niall had fixed Louis’s head and arm, because Louis looked so very unreachable right now with his head falling back on his shoulders like that. Harry's heart might have stopped, if he didn’t hear Louis groan all too loudly in his head at that exact moment.  
  
 _Jesus this is fucking worse. Stop looking, Haz. Least I couldn’t bloody see this humiliation before._ _  
_  
Instead of looking away, Harry leaned over the back of the sofa and quickly but tenderly lifted Louis’s arm onto his stomach, then his head onto Liam’s shoulder, before Niall could. But none of them questioned it this time.  
  
Liam was frowning though and it didn’t look like he realized he was doing it. Harry wondered if it was because of the shaking. Louis hadn’t been shaking the first time. He could only imagine what that must feel like for Liam right now, especially considering how ** _—_**  
  
 _Would you stop bloody looking already?_ _  
  
“Bet you wish I were the one carrying you now, huh.”  
  
I **wish** I could slap you in the dick.  
  
“You can add that to your list then. Thanks for the warning though.”  
  
All the bloody warnings in the world won’t save you.  
  
“And just think, you can’t yell and scare anyone this time either.”  
  
Nothing stops me from yelling, you arse. Care for a bloody demonstration?  
_  
“I’ve got him, Haz.” Liam’s voice broke Harry out of his thoughts and he realized he was still cradling Louis's head against Liam’s shoulder, was still staring down at his sleeping face. His head shot up to see Liam studying him again and he pushed out a breath, nodded, pulled back as casually as he could, and circled a finger around his temple. Zayn might’ve been on to something with his ‘La La Land’ comment.  
  
“Sorry. Got sidetracked.”  
  
“I’m sure you did,” Niall spoke up, like he did and didn’t believe him at the same time. “We’re used to it, mate. Tommo distracts you a lot more easily than he can distract us.”  
  
Liam just kept studying him.

Harry rolled his eyes at that, shoved his little creature back down and blurted out, “No he doesn’t.”  
  
“Everything distracts you more than it distracts us, is what he means,” Zayn cut in quickly, rubbing Harry’s back. He was still standing next to him behind the sofa and nodded towards the bedrooms. “Come on.”  
  
 _Go clean your fucking teeth already._ _  
_  
Harry followed the others into Louis’s room, watching the whole time as Liam lay Louis back in his bed incredibly carefully, only partly because he wasn’t going to give Louis the satisfaction of not having to see it. But only partly. Only once he was lying down did Harry turn back out of the room to brush his teeth.  
  
Zayn was the only one in Louis's room when Harry came back. Harry flopped down next to Louis and immediately gave his own face a good scrubbing, staring up at the ceiling once he was done. So he felt more than saw Zayn perch on the edge of the bed next to him.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Harry tipped his head to the side just enough to look at Zayn, so he could see exactly which question Zayn was asking.  
  
Ah. Yes, that one. Of course.  
  
He pushed out a loud breath, nodding with his eyes closed.  
  
“I fucking hope so.”  
  
“At least you’re tired, right?”  
  
Harry chuckled at that.  
  
“Small blessings. Don’t tell Payno it worked though.”  
  
Zayn grinned, dark eyes twinkling even in the dim light of the room. It was just after 8 now. Yesterday at this time they’d been on their way to the club physically. Now if all went well, he and Louis would be on their way back soon too.  
  
“Do what you need to do, alright? Don’t think too much. I’ve got first shift.”  
  
Harry cracked his back, shifted his shoulders to get comfortable and then shook his head against the pillow.  
  
“I really hope you’re right about all this, Zayn.”  
  
“Only one way to find out. Night, Harry. Night, Louis.” Zayn patted his blanket-covered leg once, then stood up and moved around to the other side of the bed to sit in the chair he’d pulled back to Louis’ side. The bedside lamp by Louis was off, leaving only the low light emanating from the crack in the mostly-closed bathroom door at Zayn’s right.

Harry watched him settle in with his phone then trailed his eyes over Louis’ sleeping face one more time before he rolled onto his right side so his back was to them both and let his eyes close.  
  
The club. The club. He could do this. He could get them both to the club.  
  
 _Just relax, Haz. Just doze._ _  
_  
Harry’s shoulders relaxed at Louis’s voice, quiet, as though he were trying to whisper and not disturb him. He nodded into the pillow and mumbled, “see you soon, Lou.”  
  
He let all the air out of his lungs, then cast his mind back to their night at the club, to the beat and the wild energy of all the people, to the laughter, their laughter, hanging around Zayn’s round table like the Knights to Louis’s King Arthur, Louis’s beaming smile and electric eyes as he captured their attention, almost in the same seat with Harry, their bodies moulded at the side. He drifted towards the memory of the dance floor, to Louis’s incandescent presence, to the lightning strike that he was, the imprint he left seared into Harry’s mind.  
  
And instead of shying away from the memories, this time he let his guard down.

Just as he had Friday night at Liam’s, he let go, but this time let himself enjoy it, let his memory wander back onto the dance floor, drawn, always drawn by Louis’s gravitational pull, until they were dancing, his whole body on fire with Louis’s back pressed against him, moving him, pushing him, pulling him, burying his face in Louis’s neck, tasting the salt and sweat of his skin against his lips.  
  
He fell asleep as the memory faded into a wish, as his lips brushed against that special secret spot he loved just behind Louis’s ear, trailed down the curve of his neck.

He fell asleep to Louis’s head lolling to the side, falling back onto Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted, sweat-slicked skin shimmering under the dance lights.

He fell asleep to Louis’s hands gripping Harry’s on his hips, keeping him there, keeping him always there, never letting go.


	13. Chapter 13

The sweat still coated his skin.  
  
Every inch of him tingled, the ghost of Louis’s body warm and solid and sliding against his own shifting and fading and warring with the familiar tendrils of icy dread creeping up his spine.  
  
Cast mostly in shadow, the arena surrounded him with the eerie vacant twilight of its unnatural emptiness. He didn’t know which arena, didn’t know where he was, but he knew it was wrong. Everything felt wrong. It was all wrong. Standing near the stage, just behind the black barrier where security would stand to separate the stage from the fans, he looked straight down the floor seats towards the back of the arena but it just disappeared in darkness. Looming above, the seats went on endlessly, gaping holes all judging, pre-judging, waiting to judge no matter what he did, no matter what he said.

It didn’t make sense; he didn’t think he’d ever felt quite this way before, this desperate resignation. This fear.  
  
It felt almost foreign.  
  
He could feel it though, the prickle on his skin.

The shadows were watching him.

The stage was dimly lit, a faint red glow in the midst of the black. They must have a show later tonight. He didn’t know what time it was, he just knew they did.  
  
He knew what he had to do.  
  
All he had to do was run.

Run and not get caught.

Run until the others arrived. He just knew that he’d be safe once the stage and tech crews and the lads were all here. Until then he just had to run.

Keep running.

Stay away.

Don’t get caught.  
  
The shadows were moving.  
  
He couldn’t see anything in them, couldn’t focus on them.  
  
But the shadows were moving.  
  
Something was there.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, curled his hands into fists, held himself so still his legs trembled. His sweet creature beat frantically at the bars of its cage, begging to be let out, to flee. He fought to control his breathing.  
  
He’d done it before, been doing it for months. He could do this again. He could do this.  
  
“Haz, why are we here?”  
  
His eyes flew open, his heart stilled, his lungs froze. No. No no no. No.  
  
Whirling around, he found Louis standing only a few yards away from him, right in front of the stage, staring up at the empty expanse of seats.  
  
He recognized his outfit as one that Louis had already picked out for tour: white trainers and black jeans, white tee with the Union Jack offering peace in the shape of a hand.

He recognized how his hair was styled: spiked up with the perfect fringe falling across his forehead in a way he couldn’t quite pull off himself without Lou and her magic fingers styling it for him.

He recognized it all because even in the darkness he could see Louis so clearly, just as he had in all the other dreams, just as he had looked that night under the lights of the club, so bright, so easy to see, like a spark or a beacon or a lightning strike or ** _—_**  
  
or a solar flare.  
  
“No. No no. You can’t ** _—_** ” his throat closed over the words and he shook his head desperately. “You can’t be here. Lou, you have to go. You’ve got to go.”  
  
Louis tore his gaze away from the seats, brows furrowing. He stepped in the wrong direction, _closer_ to Harry. He looked so incredibly gorgeous Harry wanted to sob.  
  
This couldn’t be happening.  
  
“What’re you talking about? I can’t go any ** _—_** ”  
  
“No no. No you have to go,” he whispered fiercely, pushing at Louis’ shoulders the moment he was within reach, trying to get him to leave. “Go. You have to go you have to **_—_** “  
  
“Harry!” Louis caught his wrists, baffled.

How could he be baffled? Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he feel it?

Louis squeezed his wrists, then touched one hand to Harry’s cheek, smacking lightly.

“What’s going on? It’s me. It’s me, remember?” His gaze flicked out to the seats again. “I can’t leave.”  
  
“You have to,” he croaked, covering Louis’s hand on his cheek, holding it there a moment before he tore away, pushing at his shoulders again. All he did was press Louis back against the edge of the stage though. “It can’t know you’re here you have to go if you hide it won’t know it can’t it won’t it’ll ** _—”_**  
  
“Stop, stop, Hazza, stop, what ** _—”_**  
  
The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. He tore Louis away from the stage by his shoulders, propelled them both backwards and down to the floor until his back collided with the security barrier and Louis fell sideways into him. He twisted them until Louis’s back was against his chest, clapped his hand over Louis’s mouth, sucked in a breath and froze.  
  
Harry tried to keep holding his breath, but his heart was pounding too fast to let him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his face in Louis’ shoulder, felt the frantic thumping of Louis’s heart, the way he was gripping onto Harry’s knee and elbow, chest pushing against the arm Harry had pinning him down.  
  
Harry felt it behind them, felt it pause just on the other side of the barrier and prayed frantically in his mind for it to leave, to not see them. But Louis was so bright, so easy for him to see he didn’t know how to hide him, begged, begged for it to just go away, leave them alone, mouthing _please, please, please_ in a constant silent stream into the white fabric of Louis’ shirt.  
  
An eternity, an eternity of holding so still that his muscles were trembling by the time he felt it leave, he pushed out a shaky breath and Louis’s fingers wound over his wrist, carefully tugged Harry’s hand off his mouth.

He didn’t try to get up and Harry couldn’t uncurl from around him yet, gripping him like a teddy bear and a protector all in one.  
  
“Harry.” Louis’s voice had dropped to a whisper now. The breath he took next seemed carefully steady. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry choked after a few seconds of just shaking his head, tightening his hold on Louis if it were possible. “I don’t know. I’ve never...I’ve never seen it.”  
  
Louis’s breaths were loud in the darkness. He turned in Harry’s hold so he could see his face.  
  
“It’s a fucking nightmare, isn’t it. One you’ve had before.”  
  
Harry nodded, even now unable to keep his focus only on Louis, staring all around behind him at the shadows, trying to control his breathing.  
  
“We have to run. We have to run, Lou.”  
  
“You have to wake up. Look at me.” Louis caught Harry's face in his hands, thumbs pressing just below his cheekbones, forcing Harry to focus on him.  
  
He was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at him, like staring into a bright light after being in darkness for so long. How could it not see Louis when he was all Harry could see? Harry knew Louis could feel it too, feel it waiting out there in the shadows, could see the fear he was trying to control.  
  
Or maybe that was his own fear that he couldn’t control.  
  
“Wake up, alright? Just wake up.”  
  
“How?” Something moved in a shadow to their left and Harry shot to his feet, latched onto Louis’s wrist and dragged Louis with him through the gate in the security barrier onto the smooth concrete of the arena floor. “Run. Run!”  
  
“Where ** _—”_**  
  
“Come on!” Something was materializing in the shadows right where they’d been and he shoved Louis in front of him, started running down the aisle towards the back of the arena. He couldn’t see the back.

They were running into more darkness.

They had to get out of the arena, had to get outside where it wasn’t as dark.  
  
A wall suddenly appeared through the darkness in front of them, scaffolding where vertical seats should be towering above their heads. Skidding to a halt, they both turned, faced back down towards the stage, breathing heavily, backs to the wall. Harry could barely see anything, just enough to know when the shadows were shifting.  
  
Something darted on the scaffolding and Harry had time only to look up before the whole thing came crashing down over Louis. He barely managed to dodge, knocking into Harry. The two of them stumbled back along the wall.

Harry tried to keep an eye on the shadows, look for a door, look for a way out, to hide. But they couldn’t hide, how could they. If he could see Louis so clearly ** _—_**  
  
“I swear to bloody fuck, Harry, you need to wake the fuck up right now,” Louis panted.  
  
“I can’t. I can’t, Lou, I can’t, I don’t know ** _—”_**

A scaffolding pole flew between them, embedding in the back wall like a throwing knife and forcing them to jerk apart.

Louis’s eyes were wide when they met his over the metal. Behind him the shadows started moving again, taking shape, reaching towards Louis.  
  
No, no no no no. Harry choked down a sob and ducked under the pole to Louis, shoved Louis behind his back and backed up, back downstage, back the way they’d come. They ran again, only stopping in the center of the arena, in the middle of the seats, unsure where to go.  
  
Harry circled, trying to see into the darkness, to find the shadows, to know which way to go, which way was safe, kept Louis at his back, watching his back.  
  
“Hazza, the fuck are we running from?” Louis whispered, focused on the darkness too. The tension emanating from him tingled in needle-pricks against Harry’s back. “The fuck is this.”  
  
“I can’t do this,” Harry breathed, shaking his head. “It’s too close. We can’t hide. We need to run. We have to keep running.”  
  
This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. It’d never gotten so close before.

It was stalking them, tracking them, cornering them. The horrifying realization sent a chill down his spine.  
  
“Oh god. It knows.”  
  
In his peripheral, Louis turned to look at him over his shoulder but Harry didn’t dare look away from the shadows.  
  
“What do you mean ‘it knows’?”  
  
“It can see you.”  
  
“Of course, of fucking course it can see us,” Louis muttered, barely under his breath.  
  
Harry shook his head, swallowed, faced Louis.  
  
“No. It can see you.”

Louis blinked, eyes widening in bewilderment.   
  
“What, like just me?”  
  
Before Harry could answer, the shadows darkened over the seats a few rows in front them, closer to the stage and he threw himself at Louis, knocking the both of them towards the ground. His knees knocked hard against the floor but stopped the two of them from colliding face-first with the concrete. One of Louis’s hands smacked against the ground too.  
  
Something rushed overhead, disturbing the air around them. Harry tried to curl closer over Louis; maybe by blocking him with his body he could block it from seeing Louis.  
  
“Haz.” Louis licked his lips, took a careful breath. The hand not gripping the back of the seat in front clenched and loosened against the ground. He splayed that hand, pressed the pads of his fingers down against the floor, tapped twice. “Please tell me your fucking nightmare isn’t after me.”  
  
“I can’t.” Because he knew, he just knew that it was. Louis was exactly what it wanted, it could see Louis, and it was going to have Harry too because he wouldn’t leave Louis.  
  
Louis opened his eyes, took another careful breath, steeling himself. With his head still angled down though, Harry couldn’t read his expression.  
  
“Why. Why the fuck does it want me.”  
  
Harry shook his head again, not wanting to say, wishing he didn’t know. He dared to shift up to peer over the seats into the darkness instead of answering.  
  
Louis’s fingers latched onto his hand, hard enough to hurt.  
  
“Then you need to fucking wake up.” He dug his nails into Harry’s palm, trying to pinch him awake. “Wake up, Hazza. Wake up.”  
  
His desperate grip did nothing but send a flash of pain up Harry’s arm.  
  
“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet.  
  
“And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted towards the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.”  
  
“What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?”  
  
Confusion slid over Louis’s features.  
  
“Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.”  
  
The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.  
  
How could Louis possibly know this was the O2? It looked nothing like the O2. They’d just been there for the Brits and it looked nothing like this. Everything was wrong. Everything was so wrong. This wasn’t the O2. None of the arenas they’d performed in had ever looked so cold, so threatening.  
  
“But it’s ** _—”_**  
  
Louis’s eyes had widened but Harry couldn’t tell if Louis was staring at him or something behind him, didn’t bother to ask or to even look. He just moved, pushing Louis backwards until he turned to run and then taking off on Louis’s heels to the end of the row, launching down the aisle stage right.  
  
Something was coming up the aisle between them and the stage and they veered left, dashing towards the back of the arena, away from the dim red light coming from the stage.  
  
An open set of double doors materialized through the darkness, a flash of the outdoors just beyond, brighter with moonlight.  
  
They slammed into the doors that were suddenly shut, locked, shoving against them.

They wouldn’t budge.  
  
“Fuck fuck shit,” Louis grit out, an edge to his voice now that hadn’t been there before.  
  
Harry stopped shoving at the door, jerked his head to look at Louis struggling to break the door open next to him. It was there, it was so close, right behind him, like whatever was making Louis so easy for Harry to see was deepening and lengthening Louis’ shadow, solid and inescapable.  
  
“Lou, behind!”  
  
Louis whirled to his right and fell back towards Harry and Harry’s hand brushed his sleeve, to get his attention, to guide him direct him save him stop him _something_.  
  
“Come on!” They tore down the back wall, but it was following them, was there, so close, prickling at Harry’s skin, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. A hallway appeared to their right and they darted into it, raced down another corridor, and another, each time forced to turn when a solid wall appeared in front of them.  
  
Frustration mixed with desperation as he pumped his legs, put all his strength into running but he was too slow, he could go faster but was running through quicksand.  
  
Louis caught his arm and threw him using Harry’s own momentum to the left through an open doorway into a room he’d almost missed. It looked like it could be a dressing room, felt like a dressing room, but had nothing in it at all.  
  
Harry regained his balance and the moment Louis flew in behind him he shoved Louis against the wall just to the left of the door and hovered in front of him, watching the open doorway, not daring to close it and make any noise.  
  
Something passed across the doorway. Harry tipped forward until his forehead found Louis’s. His palms pressed into the wall on either side of Louis’ shoulders, pinning him flat against it by giving him nowhere to go, again trying to block Louis with his body. Even without touching, he could feel the rapid rise and fall of Louis’s chest.  
  
Compared to how easily he could see Louis, his own body melted into the darkness.

Louis wasn’t glowing or anything. Harry couldn’t explain it, he could just _see_ Louis, see him so well, find him so easily the way he always found him so easily. It was as though an invisible light source, the blinding lights of a photoshoot, were highlighting Louis. But Louis had been taken out of the frame and placed in utter darkness with that light still reflecting off him until he became his own light source. And Harry’s.  
  
A hand wound into Harry’s shirt over his left hipbone, the tight grip pulling the fabric taut and holding him in place.  
  
Harry clenched his eyes shut, realized how loud he was breathing when the warm tips of Louis’s other fingers sought and found his lips then pressed against them. He curled closer to Louis.  
  
It stopped. There. In the doorway. A jolt of dread crept up Harry’s right side.  
  
Harry opened his eyes, looked through his peripheral towards the door, couldn’t see anything, knew it was there. The sharp blue of Louis’s eyes as his gaze flitted around the room, trying to find a way out, was so bright, too bright. He silently begged Louis to close them, because somehow it would know, it would see.  
  
The air shifted right next to Harry’s arm, leaving a chill that set the hairs on his entire right side standing on end.  
  
They froze. Didn’t dare breathe.  
  
Louis closed his eyes.  
  
And then the room was calmer, somehow lighter. Harry could breathe. And he did, just a quiet rush of air that he released when Louis’s fingers slipped from his lips and left a steady, tingling warmth in their wake.  
  
Louis’s hand fell and landed on Harry’s chest, fingers curling in a half-grip.  
  
“It’s not going to fucking give up, is it.” Louis’s eyes were open again. His whisper barely reached Harry’s ears, despite how close their faces were.  
  
Harry shook his head without breaking contact with him.  
  
“No matter what we do.”  
  
Harry shook his head again, then murmured, “We have to keep running.”  
  
Louis pushed out a breath and both hands fell away from Harry as he sank back and scrubbed them over his face, the stubble on his jaw, then bumped his head back against the wall.  
  
“For how long?”  
  
Harry didn’t know, wished he did. But if they stopped it would find them, he knew that without a doubt. They’d already been in here too long and something told Harry it knew they were there, was watching from the shadows, waiting.  
  
“We can’t stop it,” was all he could say, but even that just weighed down Louis’ shoulders even more.

Louis cursed quietly into the darkness of the room.  
  
Harry inched back from Louis enough to look around the room and saw nothing but dark: no furniture, no windows, no way out.  
  
“We have to get outside.” They had to outrun this, keep running, just keep running.  
  
“How the fuck will that help?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Silence closed over his words, strained with fear that he couldn’t rein in.  
  
If they could just get outside, where it was lighter, where the moonlight could help, where the open air couldn’t contain them, maybe somehow they’d be safe.

Louis’s hand found his wrist and squeezed, the other curving over Harry’s cheek, drawing him back in until their foreheads touched again.  
  
“Alright, Haz. Breathe, yea?”  
  
So Harry took two more deep breaths to steel himself before he nodded. Covering Louis’s hand with his own, he turned his head enough to press a grateful kiss to Louis’s palm. He pulled away and carefully peered around the corner into the hallway, hand hovering behind to silently tell Louis to stay where he was.  
  
There were no windows, anywhere, but somehow if they just kept running, maybe they’d stumble into a door to the outside quickly enough to get through it, before it could stop them. Keep running.  
  
The corridor was empty, too silent, too still, like everywhere else in the arena.  
  
“Don’t fucking stop running.”  
  
The warmth of Louis’s body caressed his back as Louis shifted closer, his dark mutter to himself right behind Harry’s shoulder.  
  
“Not like I have a fucking choice.”  
  
The air shifted. Something entered the hallway and they rushed out to the right, deeper down the way they’d been going, once again racing through an endless labyrinth of hallways and corridors until Harry didn’t know where they were, which way faced out, which way went back into the arena, where in the arena they were.  
  
Two doors materialized up ahead, outlined with a dim light coming from the outside and they dashed headlong for them.  
  
The ceiling caved, both of them skidding to a halt as plaster and wood and plastic and dust filled the air, blocking the doors from view.  
  
“Go! Just go!” Louis caught Harry’s hand and shoved him forward into the dust, palm searing into the small of Harry’s back for a brief flash.  
  
Their hands disconnected in the fog of grime but Harry kept going, the grit like bristles in his mouth, abrasive as it went down his throat and coated his lungs, unable to turn and look for Louis, to find him, forced to blindly trust that Louis was right behind him.  
  
And then he was outside, clear air and moonlight and the open space of nothingness surrounding him.  
  
Louis reappeared right next to him before he had a chance to look.  
  
They didn’t stop, raced straight across the carpark towards the lone tour bus parked there, skewed sideways over several spaces. It was one they’d used for their first tour and Harry couldn’t understand what it was doing here. They whipped around the back and stopped short at the sight of the mangled metal from the crash in Birmingham over a year ago now.  
  
Surprise was etched over Louis’s face when their eyes met, but they didn’t say anything, just darted around to the far side of the bus, the lighter side, the side softly highlighted by a lone street lamp about five yards away where they pasted their backs against the cool metal to catch their b ** _—_**  
  
Louis yelped and fell forwards when something yanked him off his feet. Harry shouted his name as Louis landed heavily on his wrists. Louis flipped himself over just as the shadows beneath the bus closed completely over his right foot and tugged, dragging him towards the black depths under the bus.  
  
Harry caught his left arm just as Louis tried to scramble backwards on his palms and his free foot, fighting to release the one trapped and disappearing.  
  
“Shit, shit, fucking shit,” Louis growled out on a gasp, half the force of it lost with the breath he hadn’t yet found from their run outside, muscles straining as he tried to pull back.  
  
Harry couldn’t see Louis’s foot anymore, just the black of the shadows creeping slowly up his ankle. He had both hands clutching Louis now, fingers lacing and locking into Louis’s and also gripping him under his shoulder, trying to help him stand back up again, trying to pull him to his feet.  
  
Louis’s grip on his hand was tight enough to grind bones but Harry couldn’t pull him up. It was as though Louis were being sucked into quicksand.  
  
Louis lost what little hold he had on the concrete of the carpark and jerked forward another few inches, forcing Harry to let go of his arm and dart behind him, grabbing him around his chest.  
  
He heaved Louis back and up, but the shadows held fast. They had nothing to fight against it, nothing solid to push against.  
  
Louis kicked out with his left foot to brace on the bus and shove off and help Harry, but had to tear it away a second later as the shadows swept up towards it too.  
  
“Shit shit no no no, fuck.” Harry struggled to find purchase as the shadows, now halfway up Louis’s calf, began inching closer to his knee, dragging him ever further beneath the bus. Harry tried once again to brace against something and lock in place so he could pull Louis out.  
  
Louis’s hands were scrambling now, at the tarmac, at Harry’s arms, desperately trying to hold on to something. His left foot planted flat against the ground to keep his leg back and brace at the same time, but it was already dangerously close to the bus.  
  
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ** _—_** " Louis panted, sweat beading across his forehead.  
  
Harry fell completely onto his arse behind Louis when it tugged on Louis’s leg hard enough to pull Harry off his feet too and he did the same as Louis had, planting his feet flat either side of Louis. The rough surface dragged through the soles of his boots until his feet caught, finally jerking them both to a halt.  
  
But it didn’t let go, didn’t stop pulling. Louis was locked in place, caught between two opposing forces and almost within arm’s reach of the bus now even with how far back he was leaning into Harry. His right leg from the knee down disappeared into a darkness so complete half his leg was gone.  
  
Louis had nowhere to hold on anymore with the edge of the bus dangerously close in front of him and Harry all but wrapped around him. He reached behind, fingers curling into both sleeves of Harry’s tee at his shoulders, holding on and pushing back into Harry, panting, struggling to pull his leg back without being able to move anything else.  
  
“Get me out, get me out, fuck, fuck, Hazza ** _—_** ”  
  
“I’m trying! I’m trying, Lou! I’m trying, hold on,” Harry gasped with what breath he had, muscles straining to keep a tight grip on Louis and heave them both backwards.  
  
Louis went rigid against him, eyes blowing wide open, lips parting with an audible gasp.  
  
“Fuck fuck fuck it’s cold, it’s cold, fuck it’s cold, it burns get it off get it off Hazza get it off ** _—_** ” he groaned then cut off in another gasp, back arching up away from Harry as the cold stole his breath.  
  
The warmth seeped unnaturally out of Louis’s body as though it were being drained from him.  
  
“No no no, Louis, don’t! Don’t!”  
  
Louis’s head fell back on Harry’s shoulder, eyes fluttering and hands spasming as he clutched onto Harry. Stifling a sob he choked out, “Hazza fucking do something please fuck please fuck fuck ** _—_** ”  
  
Louis cut off again, mouth just fallen open now and chest jerking too fast against Harry’s arms. He couldn’t even suck in a proper breath against the overwhelming cold.  
  
“Fuck no no fuck fuck Lou hold on, fuck, hold on, don’t ** _—_** ”  
  
Harry heaved him backwards again but nothing happened. Louis was so completely caught in place that Harry looked around desperately for something, anything, to break him free. A flash of silver on the ground to the left, just by the bus door, caught his eye.  
  
Zayn’s lighter. Nothing like what Zayn used in real life; Harry just knew it was his. It was a Zippo, silver with a familiar sequence crudely etched into one side, like it’d been gouged with a knife.

**@978/**

He locked his thighs around Louis’s waist and lunged for it, fingers scrabbling against the tarmac until they caught the lighter enough to drag it closer. He flicked it on just as a terrifying shudder rocketed up Louis’ spine and launched it into the shadows beneath the bus where the rest of Louis’s right leg should have been.  
  
The shadows vanished.  
  
With no resistance they both fell back. Harry collided with the unyielding surface of the carpark. Louis landed half on top of him.  
  
Harry pushed them both back into a sitting position, snatched up the lighter and scrambled back with his legs and one hand. He dragged Louis a few feet away from the bus, into the centre of the faint circle of light emanating from the lone street lamp.  
  
Curving over Louis, Harry pat all over his ankle, his shin, afraid to find some sign of...of...something.  
  
Nothing.  
  
No sign on his white trainer or black jeans or the sliver of his ankle just beneath the rolled cuff that anything had ever been there at all.  
  
He sagged into Louis, buried his face in Louis’s neck, tried to get his breathing under control. His heart refused to stop screaming in his chest, eyes burning from the slice of utter terror that had cut him open.  
  
One of Louis’s hands detached from his shirt, carded into Harry’s hair and just held on, held him, still twitching from the cold.  
  
Neither of them said anything, just gasping to catch their breath in the sudden silence. Harry’s hold was so tight on Louis his arms were trembling, matching the full body shivers still rolling through Louis, hand white-knuckled as he fisted Harry’s sleeve. Harry didn’t know if Louis was shaking from the cold or from fear, but some of Louis’s warmth was returning and he held on even more tightly to share his own.  
  
The lone street lamp above them flickered.  
  
“Harry.” Louis’s voice was hoarse now, quieter; Harry felt it as much as he heard it, rumbling through his chest under Harry’s arm. “Fucking wake up. Please. Please. Just fucking wake up.”  
  
“I can’t.” His voice was just as hoarse as Louis’s, but shakier, more desperate, where Louis sounded exhausted. “I don’t know how.”  
  
The street lamp flickered again, fiercely enough that it made Harry pick his head up and look, only to find Louis, with his head still fallen back on Harry’s shoulder, already staring up at it.  
  
“I ** _—_**...We can’t outrun this, Haz. You have to try.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Louis’s gaze slid from the street lamp to the massive circular structure they’d just escaped from; Harry thought it looked more like the Coliseum in Rome than the O2. Louis nodded at it.  
  
“We go up.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Louis pulled slowly away from Harry, rolled out of his grip onto his front and picked himself back up unsteadily. He held out a hand when it was clear his leg was fine and Harry took it, let Louis pull him to his feet.  
  
“We have to get as high as we can.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Louis dragged his gaze away from the arena and back to Harry.  
  
“Because that’s how you woke up in the stadium. Maybe there’s a reason we say wake _up_ and _fall_ asleep. You’ve got to fucking get out of here and it’s the best fucking chance we’ve got.”  
  
But they both knew that every part of the arena, windowless from the inside even if Harry could see windows from here, didn’t want to let them go, wasn’t going to let Louis go so easily. They’d barely escaped outside and then that plan very much hadn’t worked.  
  
Above them, the street lamp flickered again, went out for three long seconds, came back on.  
  
It made sense. They had no other choice. It was clear they couldn’t just run, couldn’t just outrun it. There were no hiding places, not when the thing chasing them, that had been chasing Harry for months, had locked onto Louis, could so easily see him, find him.  
  
They pushed through a huge set of double doors that made no sound when they slammed shut behind them. The silence of the empty arena echoed, whispered, just enough to remind them that they weren’t alone, that they’d never be alone, that this would never end, until...until.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to finish that sentence in his mind though his heart knew exactly what would make it all stop.  
  
It was a price he’d never pay.  
  
They were in a hallway behind the stage but they didn’t stop moving now that they were inside. If they stood too long it would catch up with them.  
  
“Stay away from the corners,” Harry whispered, but his voice still sounded like a gunshot in the silence.  
  
Louis stopped short, looked at him, looked past him to the two corners only a few feet ahead where the hallway had abruptly ended in a dead end. They backed up, turned and took off back the direction they’d come, only to skid to a halt when they came to another solid wall. The doors through which they’d come in were gone and Harry could feel every hair on his body standing on end, knew something was closing in.  
  
This was a bad idea. They needed to leave, they needed to run. He fisted his hand in Louis’ shirt at the small of his back and started to back up, trying to tug Louis back with him.  
  
“We have to go. Lou, come on we have to go.”  
  
“Go where?” Louis didn’t move, but he put his back to the shadowed corners when he turned more towards Harry, eyes that electric blue they’d been in the stadium what felt so long ago. “There’s nowhere to fucking go.”  
  
The shadows were playing about in Harry’s vision about three yards behind Louis and he tried to pull them both away again.  
  
“It can’t see you, right?”  
  
Harry tore his gaze away from the shadows back to Louis, saw something forming behind those quick blue eyes.  
  
“No. Only you.”  
  
The shadows crept forwards from the corners, tendrils reaching out towards Louis. Louis stepped back, closer to Harry with his back to Harry now, nearly against his chest, watching the shadows in front of them, like he was putting himself between Harry and the darkness and ** _—_**  
  
No. No.  
  
“No.” Harry tightened his grip on Louis’ shirt. “Don’t fucking say it. Don’t even fucking think it.”  
  
“What other choice do we have? I have to try.”  
  
“But you said it yourself. We can’t outrun this. What if it catches you again?”  
  
Louis angled just enough to look at Harry over his shoulder.  
  
“Then it can fucking have me. It’s just a fucking nightmare.” He looked back to the shifting darkness only a yard away from them now. “It’s not fucking real,” he murmured. Then his jaw clenched; Harry felt him tense through the grip he had on his shirt. “I’m not going to run away like some fucking pussy if it’s going to get me either fucking way. And if it’s going to get me it’s because you’re getting out.”  
  
Louis moved so suddenly he ripped right out of Harry’s hold before Harry could think to hold on tighter.  
  
“Louis, wait, _wait **—**_ ”  
  
But Louis whirled away and strode straight down the corridor further into the arena, the one direction they had left to go.  
  
Harry caught his arm, made him stop.  
  
Louis jerked his arm out of Harry’s grip, didn’t stop.  
  
Harry could only catch up with him and between one step and the next they were on the stage, lit in a bright, blood red, like the light of many emergency signs when the power goes out. Harry swore it got brighter as Louis stepped out into centre stage, then right to the edge of the stage, just right of the centre, where one of the aisles stretched off back into the darkness.  
  
“Fuck, Lou, just wait, stop, don’t do th ** _—_** ”  
  
Louis twisted to face him.  
  
“It won’t matter once you wake up, Haz, don’t you get that? Just go while it’s fucking focused on me and get out of here. Get us both out of here.”  
  
He whipped back around and threw his arms out.  
  
“Alright, whatever the fuck you are! Come and fucking get me!” His voice echoed through the arena, no mic needed, as loud as he’d always been to Harry. The darkness shifted and swirled right in front of him. Louis stared straight into the darkness less than a foot away. “This is what you fucking want, isn’t it? Well I’m here. I’m fucking here.”  
  
“Louis, stop!” Harry dove out and grabbed his upper arms, dragging him back a few feet away from the edge, from the shadows snaking out.

Louis flung himself right out of Harry’s grip again and whirled on him.  
  
“Fuck, Harry! Go! Just fucking go!” He threw his arm out towards the stairs on either side of the back of the stage that Harry hadn’t noticed, too focused on Louis, always focused on Louis. Their set for tour had stairs, but these were solid staircases, running straight back and disappearing up on either side. They felt so right and so wrong at the same time, looking nothing like the set for their show but feeling exactly like the set for their show.  
  
“I’m not fucking leaving you here to just give yourself up or something!”  
  
Louis shoved at his chest, knocking Harry back a couple of steps.  
  
“You’re going to fucking leave me if it means waking up, you fucking arse!”  
  
Harry didn’t stop him, didn’t raise his arms, let Louis push him back.  
  
“I can’t!”  
  
Louis shoved his hands into his hair, stepped back towards the edge with a frustrated growl only to round back on Harry.  
  
“I’m _done_ with this, Harry! I’m fucking done! I don’t know why it fucking wants me and not you, but it won’t fucking matter once ** _—_** ”  
  
“Of course it fucking wants you! How could it not fucking want you? You’re fucking everything, Louis! Everything!”  
  
Harry darted forward, closed the space between them again before Louis could push him back and Louis froze when Harry caught his face in his hands, fingers curving around his neck and jaw.  
  
“Don’t you fucking see? Don’t you fucking get that?” he shouted right into Louis’s face.  
  
His gaze fell from Louis’ surprised eyes, to his parted lips, thumb smoothing over Louis's bottom lip before he could stop himself, so utterly terrified of losing him in this hell of a nightmare, of Louis not understanding why he couldn’t just _do_ this, even here. Harry pressed his forehead to Louis’s, squeezed his eyes shut, willed Louis to understand.  
  
“You’re _everything_ to me and I can’t, I _can’t_ fucking leave you. Not even here.”  
  
Louis didn’t move, but Harry felt the wound-up tension in him beneath his hands when his jaw clenched.  
  
“They got to you too.”  
  
Harry pulled back in confusion at the single sentence, toneless but for something simmering just beneath the words. But even though Louis was staring straight at him, he couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t read the reason behind the electricity lighting up the blue this time.  
  
“What was it then? Hm?” These words held that same venom, that dark humour that when it came out felt like Louis was slicing into the raw nerve of an open wound.  
  
His hands fell away from Louis’s face, the first part of him to get burned by Louis’s flare.  
  
“What ** _—_** ”  
  
“Was it the fucking interviews actually fucking asking if we’d kissed? The ‘Larry Stylinson’? All the talk about the shit we say to each other? The jokes we make? That we live together? The comments that we don’t act like best mates should? All the fucking talk about me arse? That this isn’t how we’re supposed to be? Or was it fucking all of them, over and over being shoved down our fucking throats? What was it, Harry? What fucking did it for you?”  
  
Louis looked furious now. He still wasn’t moving, but each question felt like a fist slamming into Harry’s stomach, knocking him further and further away from understanding, further and further away from Louis.  
  
The shadows were shifting behind Louis again, getting closer, but Harry for the first time felt completely powerless to do anything.  
  
“I don’t know what ** _—_** ”  
  
“Which _one_ , Harry! Which fucking one made you think we should be more than mates.”  
  
That last blow knocked the air right out of Harry’s stomach and he fell back a step. He’d known, he’d known all along that Louis didn’t want this, that he’d been so clear for months, years even, knew this wouldn’t end well, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear.  
  
“None of that! Lou ** _—_** it wasn’t ** _—_** I wasn’t ** _—_** I loved you first. I loved you before all that.”  
  
Louis’s face twisted into another mess of anger, betrayal, fear, confusion...something so painful it nearly made Harry sob.  
  
“So that makes it fucking real? You don’t just get to fucking say shit like ** _—_** ”  
  
“It _is_ fucking real, Lou, I ** _—_** ”  
  
“And you fucking pick _now_ to pull this shit, you bloody arsehole? Like it’ll make me want to fucking ** _—_** what? Change me mind? Listen to you? Stay? _I don’t want to be here anymore_. So go, Harry! Just fucking go and wake up!”  
  
“I was never going to fucking tell you but I didn’t know how else to make you understand! I’m not fucking leaving you! I can’t!”  
  
Harry stepped closer but Louis shoved at his chest again the moment he was close enough, hard enough to make him stumble back a couple steps from the edge of the stage where Louis was still stood.  
  
“You don’t have a choice! Neither of us have a fucking choice!”  
  
“We always have a fucking choice!”  
  
He barely got the words out before Louis froze, eyes losing their focus as he seemed to stare right through Harry at something Harry couldn’t see. Like he’d heard those words before, like he was somewhere else, the same way he’d looked by the sofa, staring down at the paper cut on his finger.  
  
Like he was remembering.  
  
“NO!”  
  
Harry lunged forward and grabbed Louis by his biceps to knock him out of it just as he swayed, too close to the edge of the stage, too close to the darkness grasping for him. Harry tried to drag him back, but Louis wouldn’t move. Louis never moved unless he wanted to. But this wasn’t that, this couldn’t be that, because Louis wasn’t there, Louis wasn’t with him right now. Harry’s heart shot up into his throat.  
  
It already had him, had latched on to Louis’s lower back, oozing like a black blood stain over the white of his tee, slowly spreading.  
  
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck oh god fuck no, Louis no fuck ** _—_** ”  
  
Harry didn’t know when, didn’t know how long, didn’t know if the darkness had pushed Louis into remembering something or if the trance because he was fucking remembering something _now_ had given the shadows a chance, but now that he was locked in place between it and Harry, Louis was getting colder, just like he had by the tour bus. The angry flush of colour was slowly draining from his cheeks.  
  
The hard square of metal in his pocket was pressing against his thigh and he let go of Louis with one hand to pull it ou-  
  
It tugged Louis out of his grip.  
  
Harry lunged for him before Louis was off the stage, had to wrap his arms completely around Louis under his arms, crush Louis against his chest and twist his feet against Louis’ so they were completely tangled together and locked firmly in place. Half off the stage now, terrifying weightlessness of the open air under the balls of his feet had him leaning all his weight back on his heels. He dug them in around Louis’s feet, their ankles glued together.  
  
Every time he tried to let go of Louis with one arm and reach for his pocket, it tugged on Louis again. Like it knew. Like it was toying with him. Like it was making Harry choose.  
  
So Harry chose.  
  
“Lou, look at me! Look at me! You can’t fucking do this now!” He shook Louis as roughly as he could without letting him go, strained once more to drag him back from the edge of the stage. But he could only hold them in place without Louis’s added strength to free them.  
  
He couldn’t see into Louis’s face anymore, not with Louis’s head tucked over his shoulder now. Louis was limp in his grasp, held upright and pinned between Harry and _it_.  
  
Somehow Harry could see one of the flights of stairs even though it was supposed to be behind him, knew he had a clear shot, but he couldn’t do it, physically couldn’t let go of Louis, no matter the cost. He wouldn’t pay it. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to Louis if he did.  
  
Harry knew, he just knew he couldn’t leave Louis when he was like this, while he wasn’t completely here, while he was remembering.  
  
The hairs on his arms stood up as the chill of the black crept further up, closer to his arms looped and locked right below Louis’s ribs.  
  
“Louis! Louis, please, please Louis you gotta come back, fuck please ** _—_** "  
  
And then it touched his arm.  
  
Like dry ice on his bare skin, the chill bit so deep it burned, seizing up his lungs and stealing his breath even as it dragged a tiny cry up and out of his throat. His entire body locked up in shock against the unexpectedly intense onslaught. After months of running from it, it’d finally caught him and he felt it more potently than anything he’d ever felt in his dreams. He had to force himself to keep breathing as the first shivers rocked up his spine. He couldn’t pull his arms away from Louis now even if he wanted to try.  
  
The icy grip slid ever further over his arms, instantly numbing them until he couldn’t tell if he still had them anymore, climbing steadily up towards Louis’ shoulders. The shock of burning freeze and watching it slowly coating Louis’s back had him remembering what Louis had said to him in the first dream, about what he could feel, that he could feel _more._ _  
  
_Louis wasn’t dreaming, he wasn’t sleeping; he was awake. And if Harry felt it this much...No, no no no.  
  
The words spilled from his lips with the energy leeching straight from his muscles.  
  
“Not now not now please not now please fucking please. Louis!” He turned his head and screamed right into Louis’s ear with all the strength he could still muster, tears pricking at his eyes from the force of it. “LOUIS!”  
  
Louis jerked, a pained noise catching in the back of his throat, arching forward into Harry instinctively from the cold as he came back. He immediately started shivering too and he bit down hard right where tendon and bone met on Harry’s shoulder, almost as hard as his hands were suddenly gripping Harry. His nails dug into the centre of Harry’s back, right between his shoulder blades, like he was trying to do something, anything, to ground himself and regain some control over the overwhelming freeze.  
  
The pressure of Louis’s teeth and fingers, even through the fabric of his shirt, seared through Harry, so bloody warm compared to the ice that for a moment it cleared his head and loosened his lungs. He nudged his nose against Louis’s jaw, his ear, his neck, anywhere he could reach.  
  
“Louis, Lou, listen to me my pocket, my right pocket, you gotta get it out hurry fucking hurry Lou you gotta get it ** _—_** ” And then his vocal cords simply froze, leaving only the chatter of his teeth. He shoved his face into Louis’s neck in a desperate attempt to keep breathing and help Louis unlock his body enough to move, lips moving soundlessly against Louis’s frozen skin.  
  
Louis didn’t speak, probably couldn’t speak even if he weren’t still biting down on Harry’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking now, lungs shoving his chest against Harry’s.  
  
Harry couldn’t feel his arms anymore, couldn’t even see them, couldn’t see most of Louis’s back, realized in horror that he was watching Louis steadily _disappearing_ into nothing. The darkness had reached the bottom of Louis’ shoulder blades now and Harry didn’t know what would happen if it reached his shoulders, if Louis would be able to move his arms, if Harry could keep a hold of him, if they could do this.  
  
But Louis wasn’t moving, still locked frozen against him and Harry got it, he did. He could barely move and it only had his arms, was climbing steadily past his elbows now. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his head up and bit Louis’s ear, hard enough to combat the encompassing freeze by pinpointing a hot rush of pain to get him to focus. When it forced a tiny, startled noise out of Louis, Harry shoved the air out of his lungs hard enough to force his vocal cords to vibrate.  
  
“You have to do this. Lou, my pocket, my right pocket ** _—_** ” he sucked in another gasp of air, “you can fucking do this. You gotta get us out. C’mon, you can, you can ** _—_** ” his cords froze up again. He swallowed, pushed through it, groaned and grit out, “Won’t be a fucking pussy, right?”  
  
It worked. He wasn’t sure which part ** _—_** probably repeating Louis’s own words back at him ** _—_** but Louis’s left hand detached and dragged down his back to plunge into his front right pocket, digging around until his fingers, twitching from the cold, closed around the lighter.  
  
Louis wrenched it out. When his teeth let go of Harry’s shoulder so he could see what he was doing, the gasping breaths he kept struggling to take were right by Harry’s ear, his right hand spasming where his fingers still dug into Harry’s back. He struggled to open the lighter and then flick it on with his left hand, for the fire to catch.  
  
Harry prayed with everything in him that Louis didn’t drop it.  
  
The dark was only inches from Harry’s face now, but he forced himself to focus on Louis. He bit Louis’s neck this time when Louis started to freeze up again, when the erratic breaths Louis had been taking choked off for two terrifying beats.  
  
Louis let go of him completely then, trusting Harry to hold them both in place, hands fumbling behind Harry. He pushed the lighter into his right hand so he had more control and flicked the catch.  
  
Once, twice, three...four times.  
  
When Louis tossed the lighter over the both of them as best he could, the flame was so tiny, but so goddamn bright that Harry could have sobbed.  
  
And just like before everything let go.  
  
With all his weight in his heels, Harry took the full brunt of the drop as they fell away from the edge and landed on the stage floor at the foot of one of the staircases. The breath flew right out of his lungs in almost the same moment that he was able to breathe again, his back colliding with the stage and Louis’s entire weight landing on top of his chest.  
  
They were both shivering, Louis violently enough that he didn’t immediately try to lift himself off of Harry. The warmth was beginning to seep back into Harry’s muscles, Louis warming up more slowly above him. Harry could barely get his limbs to move, like they’d all fallen asleep, but he knew they couldn’t waste this chance.  
  
“Come on, come on,” he gasped when his lungs gave up some air and he found his voice again, pushing his palm against the floor to lever them both upright. Gaining more control of his limbs with each passing second, he helped Louis move off of him onto his back and lurched to his hands and knees right as Louis managed to push himself up to sitting.  
  
“Hazza ** _—_** ”  
  
Something huge let go in Harry’s chest when Louis finally, _finally_ spoke, voice raspy, breathless, shocked. But he grabbed Louis’s hands and dragged him back to his feet before he could say anything more, propelling him onto the bottom step.  
  
“Come on!”  
  
And then they were running, stumbling up the stairs as they fought to outrun it. With each step movement became easier. They hit a landing, turned and sprinted up the next flight of stairs, the steps behind them disappearing into darkness as the shadows swirled up and up behind them, just behind them, following, blocking off their way back.

The arena brightened with each flight of steps.  
  
His lungs were burning, Louis panting right next to him just as heavily, their hands smacked into walls and railings to keep their balance as they twisted and turned up each flight, but neither of them dared to stop. They were going to get the fuck out of here.  
  
Reaching the top of another flight, Harry stumbled on the landing when something crashed behind them. Whipping around he found a metal gate, the kind that could roll out of the wall to close off an area, locked in place across the centre of the landing between the stairwells, and Louis ** _—_**

Louis was on the other side, had been right next to him but now had crashed into the criss-crossing diamonds of the bars, fingers curled around them to keep on his feet after being stopped so suddenly mid-sprint.  
  
“No no no no no.” Harry threw himself at the gate with all the strength he had left, slammed his shoulder into it, rattled the bars, looked for the lock on either end but the gate seemed sealed into both walls.  
  
“Harry, go. Just fucking wake up. Go!” Louis gasped out, as breathless as Harry was, when instead of leaving, Harry darted back to him at the centre and shook the bars again. “I can’t fucking wake up, remember? You have to go.” He rattled the bars once, hard. “Fuck’s sake just fucking go!”  
  
Harry threw his shoulder into the bars again and Louis shoved his arm through one of the diamonds and into Harry’s chest, knocking him back.  
  
“I fucking chose this, ok!”  
  
That was enough to shock Harry into gripping onto the metal diamonds right by Louis’s hands. He tore his gaze away from the darkness filling the stairwell behind Louis, beginning to ooze onto the landing a couple metres away from them. Something was pulling, tugging at the back of his shirt and he wasn’t going to fight it much longer, not this time. He still had time to wake up before it caught up to Louis again. He was going to get Louis the fuck out of here.  
  
He met Louis’s eyes.  
  
They weren’t that electric blue anymore, but instead that vivid sky blue they only seemed to get under the bright stage lights or in the direct flash of cameras. That single, split second flare of his eyes meeting the beam penetrated deeper than Louis ever wanted anyone to go, but he couldn’t stop it from shining right through him anyway. It always stole Harry’s breath, that strange mix of exquisite and vulnerable that Louis seemed to have no control over in those moments.  
  
They were that color now, so shiny they almost looked wet.  
  
Louis didn’t look away. His hand shot through the bars, fisted in the fabric of Harry’s shirt.  
  
“She gave me the choice and I fucking chose this. And if you really fucking love me then fucking listen to me, you bastard, and go.”  
  
He was going, but for one final second he held Louis’s hand to his chest, to his shredded mess of a heart, needing Louis to know, to understand.  
  
“I’m listening, Lou. I hear you.”  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, Louis’s hand went limp beneath Harry’s. His eyes lost their focus again, that same faraway look slipping over his face.  
  
Harry lunged forwards to try and bring him back and in the process he let go.  
  
“Nono wait! Wait! Louis, look at me, look at me! Louis!”  
  
But the tug from behind swept him off his feet before he could catch a hold of the gate again, grab hold of Louis again. Darkness swirled over his entire vision as shadows swirled around Louis, until he couldn’t see anything but black.  
  
He fought against it and the dark finally dissipated. He surged up; the gate was gone but Louis was lying next to him and he dove back over to him. He had to get him out of this, he couldn’t be remembering now, not now.  
  
“Lou! Louis! Look at me! Fuck, please look at me!”  
  
Why were Louis’s eyes closed? He was so cold again, already shivering ** _—_** it had him, no, not again, not again. No no no. He couldn’t see it, didn’t know where it had him. He caught Louis’s face in his hands as a blinding light filled the space and he could suddenly see Louis as clearly as he’d been seeing him before.  
  
“L ** _—_** ” His voice choked off in his throat as the shivering suddenly stopped and Louis went so still. A single, slow breath slipped from Louis’s parted lips and he sank down. Beneath Harry’s hands the colour drained from his cheeks, drained from his lips until all the pink was gone, leaving behind a bruising purple-blue. The cold was finally too much.  
  
“No, no, no no no no no ** _—_** ”  
  
Something was holding him, shaking him, gripping him. Liam’s voice, calling out to him. Grey sheets, red duvet, Louis’s grey beanie, the bed beneath Louis, beneath his knees. The bed, the bed, the bed.  
  
He was awake.


	14. Chapter 14

Oh god. What had he done? What had he done? Oh god, what had he done.  
  
His hands fell away from Louis, dropped to the sheets on either side of him and fisted into the fabric. He rocked forward over Louis, sucking in a single gasp of air. He’d left Louis while he was remembering.  
  
“Harry, what happened? Harry!” Liam shook him again, but he couldn’t answer, couldn’t look away from Louis.  
  
 _”Lou? Louis, please.”_ _  
_  
Louis didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. It was too soon.  
  
Harry's eyes burned, his heart wouldn’t let up, kept pushing against his lungs, not letting them inflate.  
  
What had he done?  
  
He was supposed to get Louis to the club. Instead he’d thrown him right into his nightmare. Couldn’t keep Louis safe, instead told Louis how he felt.  
  
And then he’d left him. He’d left him. While Louis was remembering.  
  
Harry wanted to take it all back, wanted to rewind this hell and redo the last what felt like eternity.  
  
He’d never get that chance.

The curse had just taken something from the both of them that they’d never get back. They’d never be the same again and he’d thrown it all away for what? Because he couldn’t bear to watch Louis get hurt? To get taken from him by his own fucking nightmare? He’d just done all of that himself because he’d been too fucking terrified to stop.  
  
“Mary mother, he looks—” Niall murmured to his right as Harry continued to hover over Louis on all fours, limbs locked.

Harry didn’t know when Niall got there. He squeezed his eyes shut. He knew how that sentence ended, couldn’t finish it as much as Niall couldn’t.  
  
With a single breath to steel himself, Harry turned his head just enough to look to his right.  
  
Niall and Zayn were leaning over the bed near him, hovering over Louis too as best they could with Harry all but guarding Louis’s head and shoulders. Both of them looked like they’d just woken up, or been woken up more like.  
  
Niall slipped his hand between Harry and Louis to check Louis’s heartbeat and when Niall pushed out a slow, relieved breath, Harry found himself exhaling too, the burning in his eyes finally turning his vision watery.  
  
“What happened?” Zayn’s eyes were wide as he looked from Harry to Liam, who was kneeling next to Harry on the bed, arms still wrapped around Harry.  
  
Liam shook his head, but answered when it was clear Harry couldn’t.  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t know. He woke up begging Tommo to look at him and then Tommo—” He let go of Harry with one arm to motion towards Louis.  
  
“I fucked up.” His voice sounded scratchy, foreign. But as soon as the words were out Harry couldn’t stop. All the energy of the nightmare caught right back up to him and he surged out of Liam’s hold and off the bed, staggered two steps towards Louis’s dresser only to stop, having nowhere to go, not knowing where he wanted to go, didn’t want to go anywhere, needed to go somewhere. He braced both hands against the closed door of Louis’s walk-in wardrobe, flexed his muscles hard as though he could shove the entire building over. When nothing moved he shoved himself back instead, paced to the window, paced back again, stared at the floor.  
  
“I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.” He pushed his fingers over his lips, hand on his hip, shook his head, then shook it again, turned back to the window. “Fuck,” he gasped, shoving both hands into his hair, tugging hard enough to feel a flash of pain that was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. “I shouldn’t have fucking let myself think about him that way. I shouldn’t have done it. I fucked up and I didn’t get him to the club and instead I brought him there and now he ** _—_** ”  
  
“Harry. Harry, stop. Stop.” Zayn lurched up from the bed and caught Harry by the arms, turning him away from the windows to face him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, slow down.” He waited for two breaths, not letting go of Harry’s biceps or letting him talk until Harry took two breaths too, and then said, “Where did you go?”  
  
“An arena. It was before a show and Lou said it was the O2 but it looked nothing like it and ** _—_** ”  
  
Zayn squeezed his arms again.  
  
“And what happened?”  
  
Harry had to force the words, took two beats to do it before he choked them out.  
  
“My fucking nightmare.”  
  
The tears spilled then, but he didn’t care. Let them fucking fall down his cheeks.  
  
Zayn didn’t move, just watched him, knew better than to try and find Harry a tissue or soothe him into stopping; they all did.  
  
Harry had never been ashamed of crying and hated when people tried to stop it, no matter their intentions, as though he shouldn’t be crying or didn’t want to be crying, or it wasn’t natural to cry. If he wasn’t meant to cry than he would have been born without the ability.  
  
And if anyone deserved his tears, it was Louis, fucking brilliant and gorgeous Louis who Harry loved _so bloody much_ that he’d just let him down in every possible way.  
  
More tears fell.  
  
He glanced over Zayn’s shoulder towards the bed, where Louis lay with Niall’s hand resting on his arm and Liam still sitting next to him on the bed. He called out to Louis again in his mind, but the only answer he got was Zayn’s soft, careful question after giving him a few minutes to just cry.  
  
“What nightmare?”  
  
Harry tried to describe it as best he could: the running, the chasing, the fear, the darkness, the thing in the shadows. He’d never remembered it before, but he knew that it was different this time too, had been different the moment he realized Louis was there with him. And he tried to tell them that too, the confusion, the way things didn’t seem to make sense in the nightmare even though they should, that it’d been after Louis, that it could see Louis. Like Louis being there had somehow changed it.  
  
“O'course it did, Haz,” Niall cut in surprisingly gently, brows furrowed, like he was trying to catalogue everything Harry was saying, like this wasn’t the end of the world, like Harry hadn’t fucked up everything. “Because it wasn’t only your nightmare anymore.”  
  
And that. He hadn’t thought of that. It made sense that on some level it had become Louis’s nightmare too. Harry didn’t know which parts, couldn’t quite separate them from his own, but he knew without a doubt one place where he’d been a devastating part of it.  
  
“I hurt him.” His tears had stopped sometime while he was describing what happened, were still drying on his cheeks, but now he choked over the words and shook his head. He looked at Zayn, who was still stood before him holding his arms, looked at Zayn as though he had the magic to rewind it all for him and fix everything. Harry didn’t know why he thought Zayn could, he just did. “I hurt him, Zayn. I hurt him. I fucking hurt him.”  
  
Zayn’s grip on his arms tightened like a gentle reprimand.  
  
“Harry, whatever you think you did to hurt him, you can’t ** _—_** ”  
  
“I told him. I fucking told him.” The words were softer, meant only for Zayn to hear, but Harry doubted he had enough control of his voice to make them soft enough. He shoved his head into his hands, clutched at his hair again, not caring that Niall and Liam could hear him now. “I never wanted him to know but I didn’t know how to make him understand that I couldn’t leave him. He wanted me to just leave him there and wake up and I fucking told him and he knows now and I fucking hurt him.”  
  
He didn’t want to look up. The silence told him there were probably two confused faces and one shocked face looking back at him. He didn’t want them to fill the silence, didn’t want to hear. Nothing they said could possibly fix his mistake.  
  
“And he started remembering something. Right before I woke up, he started remembering something else and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t get him out of it and now I’m awake and he’s...” Harry's gaze slid back over to Louis again like it was inevitable and he just...trailed off.  
  
“He’s still not back, is he.”  
  
Even with Liam’s quiet question Harry still didn’t look away from Louis, just shook his head. He had no idea what time it was, but it had to have been at least ten minutes since he’d woken up now. Louis had never taken this long to come back and the silence in Harry's head was suffocating.  
  
Niall swore softly and Harry still didn’t look away. If Zayn weren’t still holding his arms and grounding him in place, he’d probably have fallen over into him by now.  
  
Of course Louis wasn’t back. Because Harry had left him, had fucking _left him_ in the middle of remembering and now he was awake and Louis wasn’t there and Harry couldn’t get back to him.  
  
“What did he remember? You said he remembered something when you were both trapped on stage?” Liam asked carefully, using Harry’s description of the moment to ask, a steadiness in his voice that Harry couldn’t begin to feel.  
  
“That he chose this.” Harry looked up then, intending to look at Liam, but his eyes almost immediately fell right back to Louis. “He chose the curse.”  
  
As the other three stared at him in shock, those words sank in. He’d been too focused on the unexpected vivid blue in Louis’s eyes and the tugging and the waking up and the darkness. But now, hearing them all over again, they finally sank in. And with them all the desperation, the love, the hurt, the terror, the shock, the disbelief...the anger.  
  
“He chose this. He fucking chose this.” How could Louis want this, choose to do this to himself, to the both of them, force Harry to do this? “How could you choose this?” he whispered over Zayn’s shoulder towards Louis.  
  
When Louis didn’t answer, out loud or in his mind, Harry knocked out of Zayn’s hold and darted over to the bed, dropping his hands onto Louis’ shoulders. His fingers curled into the white knitting of Louis’s pullover, begging to know, begging to understand.  
  
“How? How, Lou?”  
  
“Harry ** _—_** "  
  
Louis didn’t move, didn’t answer.  
  
Harry couldn’t take it anymore, this silence, this shut down, the way Louis always got when he didn’t want to talk about something. That wasn’t fair, that wasn’t fucking fair anymore. Harry had been forced to watch his nightmare almost take Louis, was forced to watch him like this now, to be a fucking part of it all.  
  
And Liam was right. Harry hadn’t fucking chosen this. He hadn’t chosen any of this.  
  
Louis had chosen this for the both of them.  
  
He shook Louis, then shook him again even more desperately.  
  
“How, Lou?! How could you fucking choose this!?” He jerked Louis half-upright, shaking him roughly now.  
  
Louis’s head just fell back on his shoulders.  
  
No matter what Harry did, no matter what he said, he couldn’t reach Louis.  
  
“Tell me! Tell me why you fucking chose this! Tell me!” He was screaming in Louis’s face now and didn’t care. Hands were grabbing his arms from behind, hands were pushing at him from the front, trying to drag him back, trying to make him let go.

He didn’t want to fucking let go.  
  
Everything was trying to make him let go of Louis and _he didn’t want to fucking let go_.  
  
“Fucking tell me, Louis! Tell me!”  
  
“Harry!” Niall wrenched him back hard enough that the creamy-white fabric of Louis’s pullover slipped from his grasp and Louis fell back into Liam’s hold.  
  
Liam carefully laid Louis back down, hovering over him and checking that he was still ok.  
  
Like Louis could possibly be ok right now. Like anything Harry had just done could possibly make this any worse than what Harry had already done to him.  
  
“Fuck, Harry, stop! He can’t hear you! Stop!”  
  
“Because he’s not here! He’s not here, Niall!” Harry whirled on him so quickly that it startled Niall, but Harry didn’t give him a chance to pull back, fisting his shirt now in both hands, shaking him too even as more tears filmed over his vision and turned Niall into a blond-haired blue-eyed watercolor. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?!”  
  
“I don’t know!” Niall grabbed Harry’s shoulders in return, hard enough to bruise, to hold him in place. “I don’t fucking know, Harry.”  
  
“You have to know! You’ve known everything so far!”  
  
“Harry, calm down. You have to calm do ** _—_** ”  
  
“I don’t _want_ to fucking calm down, Zayn! I _want_ Louis back!”  
  
“We all do! Now fucking calm down so we can figure out how to do that!” Liam shouted from Louis’ side, matching Harry’s volume so that the words slashed right across Harry's senses.  
  
“What did Tommo say about where he goes?” Niall asked quickly in the brief silence that Liam had managed to startle into Harry. “You asked him. I know you did.”  
  
Harry shook his head, stared at his hands still fisted in Niall’s shirt, couldn’t bring himself to release his hold.  
  
“He doesn’t know. He said he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”  
  
“Ok.” Niall squeezed his arms once to keep him grounded, focused. “Did he say anything else?”  
  
Nothing that Harry was about to fucking believe. There was no way he could make this any _smaller_ than the huge fucking deal it was. Even if Louis tried to tell him that ** _—_**  
  
“That I’m confusing ‘not being here’ with ‘gone’.”  
  
 _”Yea, well, looks like you’re pretty fucking gone right now, Lou.”_ _  
_  
But even as he thought that, a shudder rocked through him like an instinctual, complete refusal to believe those words even if they sounded so perfectly logical to his mind. His sweet creature had just reared up in his chest and somehow slapped him across the face for daring to think it.  
  
“Smart lad,” Niall breathed, the barest hint of a smile touching at his lips, as though those words were meant as a reminder for all of them. “You two and your wordplay, huh?”  
  
“He’s right too,” Liam added, normal volume again. Sitting next to Louis with his knees up, arms propped on them, holding one of his own wrists in a white-knuckled grip, Liam nodded down to his left at Louis. “Because as much as he really fucking looks it right now, if he were gone ** _—_** ” he cut off, looked like he hadn’t meant to, because he pressed his lips together, cleared his throat, licked his lips and continued, “he wouldn’t still be breathing. Of all these fucking changes every time you wake up, he’s never once stopped breathing. So as much as I fucking want to ring emergency services right now with every fucking part of me, I know it won’t help. Not with this.”  
  
“Why isn’t he here then?” Harry couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice, couldn’t stop himself from shaking Niall slightly with the hold he still had on Niall’s shirt. He dropped his forehead onto Niall’s shoulder. “He should be here by now.”  
  
Fucking hell, they were all going to need so much fucking therapy when this was over.  
  
“Maybe he can’t.” Zayn seemed a little more careful with his words this time, possibly after how Harry had reacted the last time he spoke. “Maybe he’s, I don’t know, stuck or something. Maybe something’s stopping him.”  
  
“Well,” Niall drew the word out, which had them all focusing on him and Harry lifting his head back up. Niall looked at Harry once he did. “If he was remembering something when you woke up, Haz, might be where he still is.”

Harry’s grip on Niall tightened.  
  
“Don’t tell me you think he’s still stuck in my fucking nightmare,” he whispered, horrified.  
  
“I don’t know where he is. He might be. I still don’t think it was just your nightmare, Haz. But he _could_ also be fucking stuck in his own subconscious, since that’s where you said he was when you saw him last.” Niall was chewing on his lip, eyes flitting around the room behind Harry, as though mentally scanning through information, as though Harry didn’t still have him by his shirt in a death grip. “But then you woke up and now he doesn’t have his body again, so how can he get back when he’s not physical any more?”  
  
“How are we supposed to get to him then?” Harry tried to quell the anxiety rising once again in his chest. “If we don’t know where he is and I can’t fucking reach him ** _—_** ”  
  
“You have to go back to sleep.” Zayn cut him off before he could work himself right back up again. He nodded towards Louis. “Look at him. It’s obvious we can’t do anything from here. So you have to go back to sleep.”  
  
Or not. Harry was so shocked his hands finally fell away from Niall’s shirt as he turned a bit more to face Zayn.  
  
“How? How the fuck do I do that? How _can_ I fucking do that?”  
  
He was wide awake. The thought of just going to sleep while Louis was like _this_ sent his heart skittering all over his chest, banging headlong into his ribs until it hurt, like it was trying to shake a fist at Zayn. And even if by some miracle he _could_ fall asleep, he couldn’t do this without Louis.  
  
He knew things would never be the same between them, but ** _—_**  
  
“Even if I could somehow fall asleep right now I don’t know where he is. I can’t choose where I go. And if he’s in his subconscious how am I supposed to get there? I can’t ** _—_** ” Harry didn’t even know if Louis was still stuck in the nightmare and if he couldn’t get back there...hell, he hadn’t even been able to fight the darkness and the shadows without Louis’s help. He shook his head, pushed a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this without him. There’s no way.”  
  
“Harry.” Zayn was the one speaking, but Niall shook him once, just enough to rock him on his heels, with Zayn’s words. “This time you have to.”  
  
“But I’m wide awake, Zayn! I can’t even fucking think of sleeping! I need ** _—_**...fuck, I need ** _—_** ” Harry dug his fingers into his eyes, shoved out more tears in the process. “I know I’ve lost him, but...fuck, _fuck_ , I just fucking need to know he’s alright.”  
  
“He’s not.” Liam’s voice cut across his senses, not hard or harsh this time, but still blunt enough to make Harry listen. He jerked his head towards Louis when Harry looked at him. “You _know_ he’s not alright, Haz, and that’s why you think you can’t sleep. He hasn’t been alright all weekend and he’s not going to be alright until he remembers and breaks this fucking curse. So whatever happened between you two doesn’t matter right now. You can’t fix that until you go back in and get him out and help him remember.”  
  
“And you can’t fucking lose him either, no matter how you think you hurt him,” Niall added confidently, scoffing at the very idea. He pushed down on Harry’s shoulders until Harry was sat on the edge of the bed next to Louis.  
  
Harry’s hand fell to brace on the bed and found Louis’s wrist instead. He was so fucking cold but Harry held on to him anyway.  
  
Niall sat down in the chair in front of Harry without taking his hands from Harry’s shoulders.  
  
“That’s just your nightmare talking.”  
  
Harry blinked, staring at Niall in surprise. Actually Zayn and Liam were looking between him and Niall too. Niall gave a non-verbal nudge with the look on his face before finally saying, “Well it is, isn’t it?”  
  
“I didn’t...” Harry blinked again, not sure why he was so surprised. “Yes?”  
  
“Harry, do you actually listen to yourself when you speak?” Niall asked curiously.  
  
According to Louis, nope, never. Something about talking so slowly even his own brain clocked out before the end of his sentences.  
  
“Not as much as you do apparently,” he mumbled, looking at Zayn who was standing near Niall as though Zayn would be on his side in this and...what sides? What on earth was he even thinking.  
  
Niall squeezed Harry's shoulders to get his attention back.  
  
“You’re important to me. All of you are. So why wouldn’t I listen when you’re talking about something important to you?” Harry ducked his head before he could think to stop himself but Niall waved a hand to dismiss his own words. “Point is, you just spent the last ten minutes telling us how you kept _almost_ losing Tommo and then _did_ lose him to a nightmare you’ve apparently been having for months.”  
  
“But just because that’s what you’re afraid of doesn’t mean it’s going to happen, even if it feels like it has,” Zayn added, which earned him a nod from Niall.  
  
“Exactly. So clear your mind of worst case scenarios. You’re rattled from the nightmare. You’ve _been_ _rattled_ and still half in it since you woke up. But this is all just bird shite, remember?”  
  
When Harry opened his mouth to protest, Niall dismissed it with a stern look and single firm shake of his head.  
  
“No. It’s _just_ bird shite, Haz, as terrifying and real as a bloody nightmare may seem. Nightmares are meant to play on your biggest fucking fears because that’s what makes them fucking nightmares, but it’s still just a nightmare. And I told you we can’t fucking dream for you, but we’re sure as fucking hell going to make sure you don’t lose your bloody mind to your own bloody mind.”  
  
Niall took a deep breath in through his nose, looking down to Harry’s left at Louis, then over him to Liam, and finally back to Harry again.  
  
“Now, Liam’s right. As far as we know Tommo can’t remember unless he’s got his fucking body and if you’re awake that means he doesn’t have it. So right now you need to screw your fucking head back on the rest of the way so you can get Tommo back from wherever the bloody hell he is. Probably lost in his _own_ fucking mind for all we know.”  
  
Harry didn’t immediately respond because how could he? Everything Niall was saying made so much sense and so little sense that his head was probably definitely absolutely not screwed on all the way. Releasing his hold on Niall and Louis, he dropped his head into his hands. Maybe he could physically shove it back into place.  
  
Liam left Louis’ side to crawl over the bed and Louis’s legs, sitting down next to Harry and placing a hand on his bare back, voice gentle.  
  
“I know it feels like you’ve got the entire ocean to search, Haz, but if Tommo can find the only fucking urchin in all that, you can find the only fucking Tommo in all this.”  
  
“And if anyone _is_ going to find him, it’s you,” Zayn pointed out, voice back into that half-dip lower that told Harry he was talking about something more. The look in his eyes confirmed it too. “None of us are worried about that. You already do that without thinking, don’t you.”  
  
Harry nodded, couldn’t possibly lie about that; he always knew where Louis was when they were together, whether in the same room or just in the same building, whether he meant to or not. He just did. And they all knew it too; he was usually the first person anyone asked if they were looking for Louis.  
  
He took another deep breath, scrubbing his hands over his face to rub away the drying tears and force the lingering terror of the nightmare away, of this whole bloody terrible situation away.  
  
“So... finding him...that’s already subconscious then, yea?” Niall added, in a tone that felt a bit like he was prodding Harry to follow his drift.  
  
More than subconscious. Louis hadn’t been out of his head since the day they met. Louis had been the inner voice in his head this whole weekend and at first it hadn’t even surprised Harry, because it _had_ felt natural. Shocking, but natural.  
  
Louis may as well _be_ his subconscious.  
  
“So maybe I can do this,” he mumbled, the next inhale easier to take than the last, except then it got stuck on the exhale.  
  
“But?” Liam questioned, probably feeling it beneath the hand still on Harry’s back.  
  
“I still don’t know how I could possibly fall asleep,” he admitted through his fingers.  
  
“We’ll get you to sleep, don’t worry about that,” Zayn said shortly, leaning in with one hand on the back of Niall’s chair to catch one of Harry’s wrists and pull his hand away from his face. “You just need to know that you can do this.”  
  
That felt so much like what Harry had said to Louis, to get him to find the lighter, to free them. He’d known without a doubt that Louis could do it too.  
  
“There was a lighter. In the nightmare.” He didn’t know why he blurted that out, but at their confused looks he offered the faintest smile that had no mirth, followed by a choked laugh that sounded more like a disbelieving sob. He nodded at Zayn. “It was yours. But it was a fucking Zippo. But it was yours. It...” he shifted, hand falling back to Louis’s wrist, “saved us.”  
  
Zayn arched an eyebrow at that, but he seemed to understand without Harry having to explain further and Harry had never been more grateful.  
  
“Well someone’s got to do the hard work, right?”  
  
That pulled more of an actual laugh from Harry and he nodded, finally slumping into Niall’s hold on him. He reached up to give Niall’s wrist a grateful squeeze because he didn’t think he’d thanked him yet. But he had a hell of a fucking lot to thank Niall for, he was finding out.  
  
“And if you lot ever think of saying anything about my smoking habits...” Zayn continued, punctuating those words with an equally light poke to Harry’s cheek, right where his dimple should be.  
  
Harry nodded but Zayn kept poking until said dimple appeared.  
  
“Won’t. Promise.”  
  
“Good. That promise is part of your contract now.”  
  
Harry gave a half-arsed groan, falling sideways against Niall’s hold on him.  
  
And Niall, being Niall, of course chose that moment to let go and Harry ended up face-planting into Louis’ stomach. Trying to ignore the shock of utter cold he mumbled out into Louis, “I’m renegotiating _everything_ after this.”  
  
“You’ll have time for that once we have Tommo back,” Liam grinned, patting Harry’s back tentatively, like he was testing the waters. Those words just reminded Harry of what Louis had told him during Harry’s last shower. He still hadn’t warned them. For some reason right now warning them seemed the most important thing Harry could do for his sanity.  
  
“No. We won’t.” He sat back up and faced Liam. “We need a plan.”  
  
“I thought we just came up with one?” Liam asked curiously, sharing looks with the other two.  
  
“No. I mean a plan for _after_ Lou wakes up.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we be focusing on ** _—_** oh. _Oh_.” Zayn was the first to catch on, looking over to Louis’s body as though in a new light.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Shit.” Once again, Liam wasn’t too far behind, also eyeing Louis warily.  
  
“Ropes. We need ropes.” Harry wasn’t going to let that go. Bad things always came in threes and Louis _had_ given Harry warning that the moment he woke up they were all going to lose out on sleep for the rest of the tour.  
  
“Maybe we should do that now, before he’s back?” Niall asked, glancing between the three of them. “Fuck. He’s not gonna be still long enough for us to bloody tie him up once he’s awake.”  
  
“We don’t have ropes. Have to buy them.”  
  
“We’ll come up with something while you’re sleeping then. Gives us something to do while we wait for your lazy arses,” Liam said with a nod, giving Harry’s back another rub when Harry sank down a bit more, this time into Liam, who wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders in return.  
  
Harry felt a little more relaxed now with Liam's solid warmth coating half his body, almost surprised at how that moment of being normal (if their lives could ever be called normal) had helped.  
  
Bird shit. This was all just bird shit. And he was going to have it in his hair when Louis woke up, but it was still just bird shit. He just needed to wash it off.  
  
“Think you’re ready then?” Zayn asked, as though he could sense how Harry was feeling. He probably could.  
  
Wanker.  
  
Lifting his head from Liam’s shoulder, Harry nodded, his gaze falling to the left to land on Louis again when that word just automatically sprang up in his mind, followed immediately by his mind giving him exactly what Louis would say to that.  
  
 _He is a wanker. You should tell him._ _  
_  
He still hadn’t told him. But the thought brought a soft smile to his lips anyway.  
  
“I’ll try.”  
  
Zayn hesitated, but then he asked, “Are you allergic to any medicines?”  
  
That had them all confused, but even if Harry could see easily Niall and Liam’s confusion, Zayn didn’t look away from him, urged him to answer with a sort of half nod-shake of his head until Harry finally shook his own.  
  
“Not. No. Not that I know of.”  
  
“You’re sure.”  
  
“Yea. Yea, I’m sure.”  
  
Zayn took a breath and then nodded himself, pulling away from Harry and disappearing from the room before they could ask questions. He came back a few moments later, carrying a prescription bottle and a glass of water. Handing the glass to a surprised Liam without meeting Liam's confused gaze, Zayn twisted the bottle open and poured out one light blue oval pill into the palm of his hand. He then picked up Harry’s hand and turned it over, dropping the pill into the centre of Harry's palm, still ignoring the question Harry knew he was making obvious on his face.  
  
Because he’d learned his face could be quite obvious.  
  
“It’s strong. It’ll work fast,” Zayn said instead. He paused after twisting the cap back on, flicked his gaze up to Harry then. “It’ll keep you asleep too. But probably be impossible to wake up before your body’s ready.”  
  
If Louis was still in that nightmare, his nightmare, their nightmare, if Harry was going back into that nightmare, as hard as waking up had been the first time, it wouldn’t be an option this time. He heard all that in Zayn’s warning. But still he nodded, staring between Zayn and the pill until Zayn plucked the glass out of Liam’s hand and pushed it into Harry’s.  
  
“Why do you have those?” Confusion mixed with worry in Liam's voice when he was the one to finally ask what they all wanted to know since Zayn clearly wasn’t going to answer their questioning looks alone.  
  
Harry took one more look at the pill before he tossed it back and chased it with two swallows of water.  
  
“For tour.” Zayn shrugged, palm curling around the bottle. He crossed his arms over his chest and the bottle was hidden from view. “Have trouble sleeping sometimes and can’t afford to on tour. Come on.” He directed that last part to Harry, taking the glass from him and handing it to Niall this time to set on Louis’s nightstand. “You’ll want to lie down now. It works fast.”  
  
Harry nodded, starting to rise.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
He paused when Niall spoke up and caught his shoulder above Liam’s hand to keep him in place for one more moment.  
  
Niall shifted, frowned, seemed to find his words, then said carefully, “Think it may be best to make sure Tommo remembers this time.” His hand tightened on Harry’s shoulder and he nodded at Louis, adding, “Just in case,” before letting go with a light pat.  
  
Because who knew what would happen if he didn’t, if Harry woke up again and Louis didn’t remember. Where could Louis’s body go from here? He already looked ** _—_**  
  
Harry pushed out a breath, nodded, crossed his arms over his bare chest and rubbed his biceps.  
  
Liam shifted out of the way and Harry crawled over Louis to fall into the centre of the bed. He lay down on his left side, facing the other three and Louis, as close to all of them as he could be this time. He didn’t want to be away from any of them, didn’t want to be alone for as long as he could. The chill of Louis’s body seeped through the few inches of space between them, but as much as Harry wanted to grab hold and warm Louis up, he knew all that would end up happening is he’d freeze himself.  
  
Like the darkness that had latched onto Louis, that had latched onto him, trailing steadily up over his arms, freezing him from the inside until ** _—_**  
  
“Wherever you end up,” Niall knocked Harry out of the memory with his words and by reaching for the blankets, pulling them up further over him and Louis, “it’s not real, right? It’s your brain trying to make sense of things, but it’s not real. Not even that fucking nightmare.”  
  
He must’ve actually shivered.  
  
Harry nodded, offered a smile, then scrubbed his hand over his face again, hoping to distract himself from the familiar tightening of his chest, to push the memories of what had happened in that nightmare away. It’d felt so real, still felt so real. And if he had to go back in there, had to find Louis, he had no idea what he was doing, how he was going to figure this out. He needed to ** _—_**  
  
“Hey.” Zayn was now sat next to Liam where Harry had just been and he leaned over Louis to place a hand on Harry’s arm.  
  
Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d tensed up again until the touch. How long had he been in his head this time?  
  
“What happened,” Zayn asked softly. “When you told him?”  
  
Harry hesitated, gaze flicking to Liam and Niall.  
  
“We already know how you feel about him, Haz, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Liam cut in, but gently. Or quietly. Or gently and quietly. It was very soothing. So soothing. Almost too soothing. “What happened?”  
  
“What?” Harry almost started to sit up again when his mind got past how soothing Liam sounded to his brain at that moment. “How? When?”  
  
“Does that really matter right now?” Zayn asked, stopping him from rising without any effort at all, his voice still soft and oddly soothing too. “What happened?”  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut only to drag them back open again. That part took effort. Oh. That’s why they both sounded like lullabies right now. Zayn was right, the sleeping pill was working fast.  
  
“I told him.”  
  
“What’d he say?” Liam this time.  
  
Harry didn’t quite want to look at any of them. His head lolled to the side again, back towards Louis. Louis was so pale now and the blue of his lips so terrifying that Harry’s heart tried to thump, but the pill was working on his wee creature too, lulling it to sleep. He blinked slowly, closed his eyes again, repeated the words, those first words Louis had said, repeated all the questions he’d launched at Harry like knives.  
  
He forced his eyes open again and murmured, “And he asked which one made me think we should be more than mates. Like I was lying. Like I was just trying to hurt him. Like I wanted to fucking hurt him.” His eyes fell shut again and he took a shuddering breath. “I never thought he’d doubt me. Fuck. Of everything I imagined could happen, I never thought he’d doubt how I feel.”  
  
“Is that how it happened for him then?” Niall asked curiously, speaking up first after Harry had relayed it all to them. Harry forced his eyes open yet again, had to think about keeping them open now. Zayn and Liam were both looking at Niall too. Niall looked at each of them in turn, surprised by their reactions, before focusing back on Harry.  
  
“What? Isn’t that what you just said?”  
  
Louis hadn’t said anything about his feelings. He didn’t need to. Harry knew how Louis felt, had known for years.  
  
Harry shook his head, trying to make the confusion as clear as he could because he was too tired to speak anymore.  
  
Niall frowned though, now looking incredibly confused himself. He sat back in the chair, rubbed his palm slowly down over his lips, finally shook his head.  
  
“But I thought you said he said, ‘They got to you too’. Who else was he talking about then?”  
  
“Fuck,” Zayn breathed, pulling back from Harry and sharing a look with Liam that said _so many things_ that Harry _did not understand_ but it sounded like Zayn suddenly understood something and Harry wanted to sit up and ask, wanted to know, but Liam just pressed down on his shoulder this time and he was so drowsy now he hadn’t even tried to sit up. Or maybe he had. He might’ve just made a noise though.  
  
“Not now. Go get Tommo. Sleep, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s gaze slid over to Louis one more time, thinking back to that moment, those words, the anger and betrayal and pain that had marred Louis’s face, heard those words again and was that ** _—_** did he ** _—_** what ** _—_**  
  
His eyes closed.


	15. Chapter 15

The narrow stairwell plunged endlessly and his legs wouldn’t stop stumbling down them. Harry tried over and over again to find his footing, grabbing onto the walls with no handholds on either side as each step seemed to trip him up all over again until he landed hard on his hands and knees on the floor what must be kilometres underground now.  
  
People were rushing by, some faces he recognized, names that almost came to him even though he couldn’t focus on any one face. No one stopped, but it felt like someone was trying to push him to his feet, get him up, or push him down, trip him every time someone moved past until he felt like he was stranded in the middle of the M25 with cars whizzing past him in every direction.  
  
He was backstage. They were about to go on. But ** _—_**  
  
He immediately looked left and right, over his shoulder, found the space empty. He always knew where Louis was, especially as they prepared to go on stage. Why wasn’t he here?  
  
“Louis,” he breathed, then tried again. “Louis!”  
  
He pushed unsteadily to his feet, trying to get someone, anyone to stop. “Louis! Wait! Where’s Louis! Have you seen Louis? Has anyone seen Louis? Louis!”  
  
No one stopped, no one answered. He shoved his way through people, too many people, felt as off balance as he had the night at the club when he was shoving through the throng of dancers on the dance floor to get to Louis. But he couldn’t see him this time, couldn’t find him. He stumbled down the hallways, shoved his head into a dressing room, knew it was theirs, saw bags and their stands of tour clothes, but it was empty.  
  
He didn’t see Liam. Or Niall. Or Zayn. But he knew where they were, waiting for them, waiting for Harry to find Louis, waiting to go on, waiting for the show to start.  
  
But Louis. Louis was missing.  
  
He had to find Louis before the show started. How could no one know where he was?  
  
“Louis!” He pushed off the doorframe of their dressing room, stood in the middle of the hallway and shouted, fists curled as he desperately waited to hear him call back, the Polo to his Marco like that night at the club.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He staggered out into another corridor, turning and shouting and knocking off people trying to stop him, jostling and spinning and dragging him in too many different directions until he felt almost tipsy, swaying. He braced against the wall again, shouted for Louis again and then pushed off, forced his way through the maze of people all hovering backstage until he was suddenly free and he lurched right onto the stage and froze.  
  
The venue was packed, every single seat filled; screaming fans and flashing lights and banners and posters and a wall of sound slammed into his senses. His heart flew up into his throat and he stumbled until his back hit a wall, begging and praying that no one had seen him. He squeezed his eyes shut, nostrils flaring as he tried not to lose himself to panic. He opened his eyes again, stared out over the endless crowd of their fans, their beloved fans. And then he caught sight of a single light blue poster being held aloft, halfway back the centre floor seats with one thing written across it, etched sideways like it’d been gouged in.  
  
 **@978/** **  
**  
And then he remembered. Everything seemed to catch up to him in that moment and the ground suddenly felt steadier beneath his feet.  
  
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s a dream. It’s not real.  
  
Licking his lips, he drummed his fingers frenetically against the wall, dragged in three deep breaths and then one more and then one more after that, before he darted back out into centre stage, stared out over the vast expanse of people and cupped his hands around his mouth.  
  
“LOUIS!”  
  
The screams of the crowd didn’t change, even with his scream, even with him standing alone in the middle of the stage, as though they didn’t realize he was there.  
  
Mics. Their mics. Sound check was hours ago; they were set up and on now. If he could get to their mics surely Louis would be able to hear him.  
  
He whirled back to the stage. The projection mapping screens were all lit up, but instead of different versions of their band name, all he saw was a chaotic mix of the same five symbols in all different fonts and sizes, blue against the bright white background until **@978/** seemed to fill every part of his vision, no matter where he looked. His eyes wanted to close against the blinding lights.  
  
He held his arm up to try and shield them, searching the main stage then lifting his gaze to the raised walkway centre-stage between the stairs until he found the black lines of their mic stands hovering like five silent sentinels above the stage, mics in place. He took one step towards the stairs and froze when his mind registered the body crumpled at the base of the stands.  
  
An oh-so-painfully-familiar figure, lying on his side on the walkway, one hand hanging limp over the edge of the black metal grating between the second and centre stands.  
  
“Lou!”  
  
His shout was once again drowned out by the screams of their fans.  
  
Louis didn’t move.  
  
Harry tried to block out the endless waves of excited shouts, tune out the eyes of thousands of fans who were staring straight at the stage and still didn’t seem to notice him standing there, didn’t seem to notice or to care that Louis was, Louis was ** _—_**  
  
It’s not real. It’s not real. Their fans cared; their fans cared so fucking much.  
  
In dreams or out, Harry would never have been able to take the stairs up onto the walkway as fast as he wanted. Lunging up two at a time, he’d just made it over the fifth step when a wave of pressure slammed straight down onto his shoulders, knocking him flat until his hands bashed the steps and he collapsed completely onto them. It didn’t hurt the way he thought it would; it felt more like falling into a cloud, or a bed.  
  
And it was a familiar type of pressure, a heaviness that he’d felt right before falling asleep just now, barely able to keep his eyes open. It was a heaviness he didn’t expect to feel now, but felt it more powerfully than ever before, like an external force actively pushing down on him.  
  
He sank further onto the steps, his mind screaming at him to get up, get to Louis, but his body didn’t want to listen. His eyes slid shut and he had to snap them back open, moaning at the dizzying disorientation of his vision when he did. It was like all his body wanted to do was sleep, but that didn’t make sense. He was already asleep, this was a dream. So why did he feel like he’d been ** _—_**  
  
 ** _—_** drugged.  
  
Fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut again, fingers curling against the steps as he fought to gather the strength to push himself back up. Zayn had said he wouldn’t be able to wake up as easily, but he should have asked, he should have known. Sleeping pills as strong as these had to have side effects, right? Was this even a side effect? Up. Up. He’d had to go up in the nightmare to wake up, went up in the stadium and woke up. Up. Up.  
  
He had to go up now, but not to wake up.  
  
He had to go up to get to Louis.  
  
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he forced himself to say out loud, dragging his head up to stare to his right up towards the centre of the walkway where Louis still lay unmoving, right there, just _right there_ , but suddenly so much further away than Harry ever thought he could be when they were sharing the same stage.  
  
“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Haz,” he grit out, letting Louis’s words, even without his voice, give him the verbal kick to shove himself up. He couldn’t will his body to stand completely back up, but he crawled up each step, wanting to cry with each one as the pressure intensified. His mind thought he was trying to wake up and no, no that wasn’t allowed.  
  
“I’m not. fucking. leaving him. again,” he growled to himself, _at_ himself. The frustration lit enough of a fire in his arms and legs and he managed to climb up the last few steps onto the walkway. Harry half-crawled, half-stumbled across the grating and could have cried when he finally made it to where Louis was lying on his right side behind the centre mic, his own mic, facing the crowds.  
  
Louis was wearing the same outfit from the nightmare but it looked so close to what he wore to the club and Harry was getting both outfits confused and his head was exploding but all he wanted was peace and there were vodka bottles and empty pint glasses and shot glasses scattered all around Louis and none of this made any sense.  
  
It’s not real. It’s not real.  
  
It was his brain making sense of it all and not making any sense at all. That’s all. Louis had never done anything like this and would never do anything like this. Nothing would ever make Harry doubt that, not even this mess his brain was cooking up.  
  
He nearly fell over Louis’s legs trying to reach him, knocking bottles and glasses aside that he barely felt, bracing on his left hand so he could curve his right around Louis’s cheek and shake him.  
  
“Louis. Lou, wake up, please, wake up. Wake up.”  
  
Louis’ skin was clammy now ** _—_** something that hadn’t happened all weekend ** _—_** sweat beading across his brow and pasting strands of hair against his forehead, as pale as he’d been before Harry fell back asleep. He showed no signs of hearing Harry, no signs of waking up. Harry weakly rolled Louis onto his back, tried to shake him again, wished his muscles would cooperate, wished the pressure bearing down on his shoulders would ease.  
  
“Shit, shit. Lou, please, please.”  
  
Too focused on Louis, Harry's arms gave out under the pressure and he dropped. His heart plummeted and his head landed on Louis’s chest, arms splayed over Louis like some sort of twisted hug, trapping Louis’s left hand between them where it had slid over his stomach when Harry had pushed him onto his back. Harry closed his eyes to stop the dizziness, breathing heavy, wanting nothing more than to just curl up right here, on the best fucking pillow he’d ever experienced, curl up around Louis and hide him from the world, fall asleep until he had the energy to move again and actually help him.  
  
The screams of the fans started to fade into the background.  
  
In the sudden quiet, Harry swore something was beating beneath his head, like a gentle knocking on his temple. He forced his eyes open and they fell to half-mast, the world fuzzy until he blinked and brought it back into focus.  
  
The walkway was now sideways in his vision, the stage and the massive muted crowd just beyond. An empty _Absolut_ vodka bottle lay right there, next to Louis’s hand, which lay palm up and limp at the bottom edge of Harry’s vision. Just peeking out around his wrist at Harry was his bird tattoo, staring straight at Harry again, accusing him, begging him. He flung his hand out and clapped his palm down onto Louis’s, slotted his fingers between Louis’s and squeezed, shaking their hands against the ground.  
  
“Lou...”  
  
Louis still didn’t move.  
  
He wanted to cry at the fucking injustice of it all, the whole bloody curse, everything that had happened, that was still happening. Harry had no more strength to give and he just wanted Louis to wake up and be alright. Why couldn’t he just fucking wake up and be alright?  
  
He went against every part of his being and pushed himself off Louis and onto his hands and knees again, shoving the offending bottles and glasses away from Louis. He barely felt them, didn’t hear a sound when they fell, like they’d just disappeared. Dragging himself around behind Louis’s head, Harry sat on his own feet and pulled Louis up by his shoulders into a sitting position against his chest, immediately struggling to resist the urge to just sink down into Louis and sleep.  
  
Louis’s head lolled against his shoulder. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took two deep breaths, curling his right arm around Louis’s waist while his left hand carded through Louis’s hair to cradle his head against his neck, holding him and holding on.  
  
It’s not real. None of this was real.  
  
“Louis. Lou, please. Fucking please, just fucking wake up.” His head fell, eyes closing before he could stop them at the soft brush of Louis’s hair, like a fucking pillow, like a fucking cloud, against his cheek. “Fuck,” he gasped into the too-soft strands. “Why won’t you fucking wake up.”  
  
Harry forced his eyes open again, caught sight of a single empty frosted shot glass near Louis’s left hip; it looked exactly like the one he’d shattered in the first dream at Liam’s. Harry didn’t have the energy to pick it up and throw it away, but fuck he wanted to.  
  
It didn’t mean anything. This was just his brain trying to make sense of it, that’s what Niall said. None of this was real. He just needed to understand what his brain was trying to say. But his brain didn’t make any sense even when he was awake. None of this made any sense.  
  
He lifted his head back up, looked from the shot glass to Louis’s face, took in his sweaty skin, how pale he was, all the empty bottles littering the walkway, like he’d drunk himself into this stupor.  
  
Because Louis wasn’t asleep.  
  
He hadn’t really been asleep for days now.  
  
So maybe he needed something else to bring him back. Maybe...maybe he looked like this to Harry because...  
  
“It’s not real. It’s not fucking real,” he murmured, sliding his arm off Louis’s waist to smooth damp strands out of Louis's eyes, fingertips trailing over the stubbled curve of his jaw. Cupping his cheek, Harry stroked his thumb so tenderly over Louis’s bottom lip, gathering his nerves. “It’s not real, Lou. It’s not real.”  
  
But maybe it would work. He had to try.  
  
He hesitated, hand hovering, then touched his index and middle fingers so carefully against Louis’s bottom lip, pressing gently until his lips parted.  
  
He didn’t know what else to do. He had to try.  
  
Harry sucked in one more breath and pushed his fingers into Louis’s mouth, wriggled them as far down Louis's throat as he could, trying to find ** _—_**  
  
Louis choked, arching and convulsing against him and Harry whipped his hand back. He held Louis as best he could as Louis twisted out of his arms and fell sideways, heaving up the contents of his stomach over the back of the walkway. Harry didn’t hear anything hit the stage below, didn’t even know if Louis had anything in his stomach or if his body was just going through an automatic reaction, but it didn’t matter. He just held Louis as he shook, forehead falling against the space between Louis' shoulder blades, a rush of relief racing through him even as his eyes slipped shut.  
  
“C’mon, Lou, come back. Come back, please, fucking come back.”  
  
Then Louis was spitting, coughing, gasping, still shaking, but he was holding onto the walkway now, holding onto Harry’s arm. It took a moment but then Harry realized he was speaking too, his voice so loud even with all the screaming fans behind them and all he could hear was Louis and Harry wanted to start crying all over again at the sound of his voice, the vibration of it beneath Harry’s forehead, hoarse and choked as it was.  
  
“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck...”  
  
Louis started to sag forwards but before he could topple over the side, with all the remaining strength he had left Harry heaved them both back up until Louis fell against his chest again. Harry wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Louis’s neck from behind. Louis had to remember, he had to help Louis remember, he had to ** _—_**...he had to ** _—_**... he just wanted to sleep. He was so fucking tired.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he gasped into Louis’ skin, like a reflex, when Louis’s fingers wove into his hair and pressed down against his scalp, dragging him back from the edge of sleep again. His eyes started burning from the touch alone. He didn’t know if the touch was instinct for Louis or if Louis meant to do it, but he was so fucking grateful he could cry. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t mean to ** _—_** "  
  
“Hazza,” Louis choked, his head turned enough so that Harry felt his lips brush over his hair as he said his name. He sounded confused, disoriented, like he was naming things out loud as they registered to try and figure out what the fuck was going on. Harry didn’t even know if he’d even opened his eyes yet. He wished he had the strength to really hold him. “Wh ** _—_** "  
  
The screams of the crowd erupted, so loud ** _—_** almost deafening now ** _—_** causing Harry to wince and tense at the sudden volume. He could pick out words, hear his name, hear Louis’s name, the audience trying to get their attention, chanting both their names together now, like they’d finally noticed the two of them on stage so obviously wrapped up in each other.  
  
Louis wrenched himself out of Harry’s arms, whirled around so quickly, scrambling back on his hands away from Harry, his eyes that vivid sky blue they’d been when Harry had last seen him.  
  
“Wait, no, Lou, it’s not real. It’s not real.” Harry fell forwards on his hands without Louis there, tried to reach him with his voice because his body couldn’t, but he’d never seen Louis look so terrified before, never seen him so unreachable right in front of him, staring at him like he couldn’t even hear him. “Louis, wait!”  
  
But Louis wasn’t listening. He staggered to his feet and was halfway down the stairs before Harry could push himself back upright.  
  
Harry was so focused on staying with Louis that he didn’t know how he made it to the stairs. He all but fell down them, landing hard on the floor of the main stage, the pressure lifting and his mind clearer and the energy back in his muscles the moment his knees hit. He staggered to his feet and raced after Louis, wanting to scream in frustration that his legs wouldn’t go faster when he _knew_ he could run so much faster. He couldn’t lose sight of Louis, no matter how much faster Louis seemed to be running than he was through throngs of people backstage who kept getting in Harry’s way, knocking him about, almost off his feet.  
  
“Louis!” he screamed, trying one more time to get his attention, to get him to stop. He shoved some techie aside, dashing around a corner into an empty corridor just in time to see Louis disappear into a room to the right. He veered into the room, froze in the doorway, held onto the doorframe. The door was in one corner, and the wall that spanned straight ahead to the right of the door was covered in one long mirror, evenly spaced lights and seats in front of the counter and all their racks of clothes covered the opposite wall. It was still their dressing room, even if the set up had completely changed.  
  
Louis was leaning over the counter in front of the mirrors, looking down, hands braced against it, so tense that Harry could see every line of his muscles flexing in his arm. Even now, standing so Harry could only see his profile, he was so painfully gorgeous. He’d never be anything but beautiful to Harry, in every way. And he was awake. He was awake and Harry could cry again.  
  
He took a step into the room, throat closing up.  
  
“Lou ** _—_** "  
  
“Go away, Harry.”  
  
He stopped, didn’t try to get closer.  
  
“Wh ** _—_** "  
  
“I said fucking go!” Louis’s arm flew through the collection of sprays and bottles on the counter, knocking them off with a crash as he snatched up a bottle and launched it straight at him. “Just go!”  
  
Harry ducked the projectile just in time and the hairspray smashed against the open door right behind him.  
  
Louis dropped his hands back to the counter and from where Harry stood, it looked like Louis’s fingers were almost clawing at the lacquered wood, to keep from throwing something else. Jaw tight, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing deep, unsteady and careful, like he was desperately trying to calm himself down.  
  
It hurt, it hurt to see him like this. All Harry wanted to do was hug him, hold him until Louis could ground himself, until he was ok.  
  
“Lou, I ** _—_** "  
  
“What,” Louis cut him off again, his voice dropping to that dangerous tonelessness Harry had last heard right after he’d told Louis he loved him. Except this time it felt almost worse when he continued, strained, “what do I have to do to make someone, _anyone_ , listen to me?”  
  
There was no anger, not this time, but the pain, the resignation was there, a hopelessness that Harry had never heard in Louis before. He almost couldn’t breathe. Louis’s eyes opened again but he didn’t look up. He didn’t move, his normally bright, so loud voice nothing more than a hollow whisper.  
  
“Please. Please just fucking leave me alone.”  
  
 _”If you really fucking love me then fucking listen to me, you bastard, and go.”_ _  
_  
The words echoed through Harry’s skull.  
  
It went against every instinct in him, but Harry nodded, swallowed over the lump in his throat.  
  
“Ok, Lou. Ok.”  
  
And he stepped back out the door, pulling it closed behind him, wincing at the quiet snick of the latch clicking shut. He leaned against it and slid to the floor, arms crossed over and resting on his knees. He thunked his head back against the door, closed his eyes, and waited.  
  
He would leave Louis alone, but he wouldn’t leave.  
  
For a few moments he heard nothing but the deafening quiet of his own mind, until the crash of more hair products hitting the floor reached his ears. Harry didn’t know whether Louis was angry or upset, crying or not, couldn’t hear anything but the bangs and smashes of things being thrown around the room. The demolition reminded him of the way Louis had thrown the shot glass in the dream at Liam’s, remembered Louis shouting at him about how good it felt, that it was just a fucking dream anyway.  
  
He knew Louis could be destructive, never willfully so, but maybe because this was a dream Louis had an outlet he didn’t normally allow himself to have.  
  
Harry closed his eyes, didn’t know how long the steady demolition of the dressing room went on, only noticed when it stopped, the sudden silence like a momentary scream across his senses.  
  
Opening his eyes again he waited, didn’t move, wondered if he should open the door, wondered if he could come back yet. But he knew the answer immediately. Louis had been telling him to go since...since...  
  
So he closed his eyes once more.  
  
“I’m sorry, Lou. I didn’t mean to leave you.”  
  
He didn’t hear anything, no sound, no response, no movement, nothing to tell him to keep going, nothing telling him to stop. Didn’t even know if Louis had heard him.  
  
So he kept going.  
  
“I came back as fast as I could.”  
  
Something bumped against the other side of the door a few feet above his head, too quiet and too controlled to be an object. Like a hand, like a palm bracing against the wood. He closed his eyes, imagined that maybe Louis was stood just on the other side of the door, both hands pressing against it, listening. Harry licked his lips, kept going.  
  
“I let go. I shouldn’t have let go. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I didn’t mean to let go.”  
  
He stood up, turned and rested both hands on the doorframe, letting his forehead thump against the door. The whisper of his words so soft that it felt like the wood bounced them right back in his face.  
  
“I’m here now. I’m...I won’t leave you again. I promise.”  
  
For a few moments nothing happened. Then the door jerked open. If he hadn’t been leaning his weight on his hands on the doorframe he would have fallen forwards. Instead he lifted his head up to find Louis standing right in front of him, head tilted enough to the side that he was staring past Harry’s arm at the floor of the corridor somewhere to Harry’s right. Harry couldn’t see his eyes but the tense set of his shoulders was impossible to miss.  
  
Neither of them moved.  
  
“What happened.”  
  
Harry was almost afraid to respond, like this was a test or a riddle and if he didn’t get the answer right the door would close back in his face.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.  
  
Louis’s jaw clenched and he dragged in a breath, nostrils flaring, not releasing his grip on the door handle or looking up at Harry, like he knew Harry was looking at him but Harry didn’t deserve for Louis to look back.  
  
“Why are we here. How did we get here. What. Happened. Harry.”  
  
“You started to remember.” Harry kept his voice carefully quiet, had to grip the doorframe to stop himself from reaching out. The moments might be rare, but he knew when Louis didn’t want to be touched. “Right as I woke up. Before I could stop you.”  
  
“You woke up.”  
  
Harry nodded when Louis repeated his words almost clinically, knew Louis could see his nod even if he wasn’t looking. He waited to see if Louis would say more, before cautiously continuing.  
  
“You weren’t there.”  
  
Louis snorted, as though to say ‘obviously’.  
  
“And my body?”  
  
Harry bit down hard on his tongue at the softer question and forced himself to not look away, gaze falling to Louis’s lips.  
  
“You’re still cold. But you’re not shaking anymore.”  
  
Louis nodded, still staring at the ground. It all felt a bit like Niall’s lightning round when they’d first found out about this mess, except with none of the sparks and all of the countdown to the sure detonation of an exploding bomb when the strike finally hit. Again Harry waited, let the silence stretch between them before speaking first.  
  
“I found you here, when I fell asleep again. I didn’t-...I didn’t choose this either. I don’t know why here. The last I saw you was in my-...the nightmare.”  
  
For a moment Louis’s eyes closed, as though some part of all that he could believe.  
  
“Did you remember anything else before I ** _—_**?”  
  
Louis sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, jaw clenching again.  
  
Harry pushed out a breath, loosened his grip on the doorframe, dropped his gaze and his chin down.  
  
“You need to remember.”  
  
“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Even softer and slightly strained the words still had bite to them. Louis knocked Harry’s arm out of the way before Harry could say anything though, edging past him into the corridor and taking three steps before he paused, spoke over his shoulder.  
  
“Are you coming?”  
  
“Do you want me to?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.  
  
Louis didn't turn to face him. His hands curled into fists then slowly uncurled. He turned further away.  
  
“Doesn’t fucking matter what I want. I can’t fucking do this without you.”  
  
He started walking again, as though he knew, he just knew that Harry would follow.  
  
Harry did. Of course he did, biting his tongue over everything he wanted to say to that.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asked instead, as Louis kept walking, purposefully enough that Harry felt he had a better sense of where they were than he did. Unlike before, the corridors and hallways were empty now.  
  
“To the club.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“We’re going to walk there.”  
  
Harry lurched to a halt; Louis didn’t stop walking and he had to jog to catch up, catching his arm before he could think about it, turning him back to make Louis stop, to look at him.  
  
“I can’t-“  
  
Louis flung his arm out of Harry’s grip, whirling on him and looking at him for the first time. His eyes were a bit red; maybe he had been crying. And just like the red of the Man U jersey he’d been wearing in another dream, the red only made his eyes shockingly blue, that electric blue again, like the lightning strike Harry kept waiting for was hidden right there in them.  
  
“Yea, you fucking can. Because I reckon it’s the least you can fucking do.”  
  
The fuck. He’d been trying to help all weekend, had had Louis stuck in his head all weekend, had to watch his nightmares almost take him, could do nothing but watch as Louis seemed to slip further and further away, until he was lying like he was dead outside of this dream and that-  
  
Harry caught Louis’s arm again and jerked him to a halt when he started to walk, held on tightly enough that Louis couldn’t break out of his grip.  
  
“The least? Did you fucking forget that you’re the one who put us here? That you were the one who fucking chose this? You think this is all nothing to me? Some fucking walk through Hyde Park for me? You think I _wanted_ any of this?!” He crowded Louis up against the wall, flung his own grip off of Louis’s arm. “ _I’m_ the one who had no fucking choice! You chose this! You chose this for both of us! Everything I’ve done this whole fucking weekend has been for you, you arsehole!”  
  
“Everything? Every fucking thing? Really? Like declaring your so-called feelings for me like I’d just fucking listen to you and agree? Is that my fucking fault too? You had no choice but to fucking tell me that?” Louis shot back, not having anywhere to go, but not moving, standing his ground even though Harry didn’t think he had any ground to stand on.  
  
“You were never supposed to find out. And if I could take that back I would, alright?!” Harry smacked his hands into the wall on either side of Louis - Louis didn’t flinch - and squeezed his eyes shut until the wave of frustration passed. “But I can’t. And I can’t fucking change how I feel but it _is_ how I feel. It’s not part of some game or to try and fucking manipulate you or-“ he shoved back from the wall, threw his arms up. “Fuck!”  
  
“So it’s fucking real but you want to take it all fucking back. Right. Got it. Fine. Then tada!” Louis flicked his hands out dramatically, “Magic! It’s fucking gone. Happy? Now we have a fucking club to get to.” Louis shoved off the wall and started down the hallway again, rounding a corner before Harry caught up.  
  
Once again he felt like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say; nothing he said was the right thing. He wanted to pull his hair out as the frustration welled up again.  
  
“What the fuck do you want from me?” he grit out when he reached Louis’ side.  
  
Louis didn’t stop walking, started up a set of stairs to their left.  
  
“I _want_ you to just fucking walk to the fucking club.”  
  
Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to know the fucking magic word, the password, the passcode, the keys to King Louis’s fucking kingdom that would fix everything.  
  
“And what if I can’t? What if I can’t because I’ve never been able to take us anywhere before? It’s like you’re asking me to fly when you know full well that I don’t have fucking wings.”  
  
Louis still didn’t stop climbing, even though Harry had stopped again at the bottom.  
  
“I’m not asking you to fly, you fucking bastard.” Louis paused halfway up, took a deep breath. His hands clenched again but he didn't turn to face Harry. “I have to fucking remember, don’t I? I'm asking you to _help me_.”  
  
Harry raced up the steps two at a time, desperate to catch up to Louis the moment he heard the subtle plea hiding just beneath the sharp tone.  
  
“Lou, I ** _—_** "  
  
Three steps below Louis the pressure slammed straight down over him, as though the entire building had just collapsed on his shoulders and he dropped like the dead weight his body suddenly was, barely kept his head from smacking into one of the steps as once again everything tilted, tipped, swayed, blurred, darkened. He moaned, or thought he did, heard the sound from somewhere in the distance as his body once again sank towards the glorious, glorious bliss of sleep.  
  
He couldn’t help Louis. He couldn’t go with Louis. Not now. What was he thinking? Not like this, he needed to sleep, he just needed to sleep.  
  
He couldn't help Louis now.


	16. Chapter 16

Something was shaking him.

Harry blinked his eyes open.

He blinked again to try and focus, found shocked blue eyes inches from his face and Louis’s hands a searing heat on his cheeks. It looked like he’d just said something. Harry was lying on his back and again the stairs should have felt so painful, but they were softer than his own bed. Like a cloud.  
  
Louis’s hair was like clouds sometimes. He loved Louis’s hair. He loved Louis so much.  
  
Harry's eyes slid shut as he sank once again towards ** _—_**  
  
“No, no, Haz, open your eyes. Look at me. Look at me!” Louis shook his face again until he listened, until the terror in Louis’s voice registered and he managed to blink them back open. “Don’t close them. You fucking hear me? Don’t fucking close your eyes.”  
  
Harry tried to nod, wasn’t sure he managed. Maybe he did, but it wasn’t enough.  
  
“Say it. Hazza, say it.”  
  
Harry groaned. He didn’t have the will to fight Louis’s exorbitant demands right now. Louis shook him again and he opened his eyes...again.  
  
Oops.  
  
“Won’t close my eyes,” he mumbled, reaching out for some part of Louis to hold on to so that he could follow his ridiculous orders. He couldn’t win. Why couldn’t he ever win?  
  
His hands found Louis’s thighs and that was ** _—_**...what? He lifted his head enough to look down and found himself staring straight down the neck of Louis’ shirt, straight down his chest, down further to Louis’s legs, which were on either side of Harry’s waist as he knelt on the steps to lean over Harry and get as close as he was, their faces only centimetres apart.  
  
Fuck. His fingers curled into Louis’s thighs, right above his knees, holding on, and he dropped his head back on the pillow-stair, wasn’t surprised at all that seeing their position helped him to wake up just a little bit, wishing that Louis would just close the distance between their hips and press his arse down on Harry's ** _—_**  
  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
  
“What’s going on. Harry, what the fuck is going on?”  
  
Harry licked his lips, stared up at Louis, locked onto his eyes and used the open fear and confusion he could see in them to keep his own open and his mind from straying in more ways than one. He didn’t want to disappoint Louis. He never wanted to disappoint Louis and he never wanted to see Louis so scared, even when he could barely stay awake and couldn’t control his own thoughts. His body didn’t want Louis to move further away, but he knew he had to get back down to the lower level.  
  
Louis shook him again.  
  
“ _Hazza_.”  
  
“Pill,” he breathed, tugging at Louis’s legs as though it would get him to move and get up, or move down closer so he could feel the perfect pressure of Louis’s weight on his hips. Harry gripped because he needed a way to keep himself _here_ , with Louis. He gripped to stop his traitorous fingers from reaching up to curve around the dip at Louis’s waist when Louis’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, the touch so tender to Harry that he almost closed his eyes again.  
  
Louis shook his face again and Harry opened his eyes and groaned, muscles in his neck straining when he pushed up enough to touch his forehead to Louis's in another desperate attempt to clear his senses and speak.  
  
“Took pill. Need to go down. Get back down.”  
  
“What? What the fuck?” Louis pulled back enough to see Harry's face and shook his head, his confusion still so clear. His thumbs swiped over Harry’s cheeks again. “The fuck are you on about?”  
  
“Sleeping pill. Side effect.” Harry pushed out in another groan, his head thunking back against the stair. He still wasn't even sure if that was completely true. Maybe this wasn’t even a side effect, just an effect, a front effect. Like Louis. Louis was in front of him and leaning over him and so close and he was effecting Harry and ** _—_**  
  
He groaned again.  
  
“Fuck.” He tried to nod somewhere up above them, tugging at Louis’s legs again. “Can’t. Can’t go up.”  
  
Louis looked up past Harry to the top of the stairs and then twisted to look back down to the base of the steps. His right hand dropped from Harry’s face to his chest, thighs suddenly gripping around Harry's hips while Louis twisted in order to keep himself balanced over Harry on the stairs. He wondered if Louis could feel the way his heart immediately jack-rabbited right up against his ribs to reach Louis’s hand.  
  
“Ok. Ok.” He turned back to Harry and nodded, head hanging down so close that his fringe caressed Harry’s face. “Fuck. Ok.” He pulled back. “Come on. Come on, Hazza.” He let go of Harry and climbed off of him, tugging him up into a sitting position and looping Harry’s arm over his shoulders to haul the both of them to their feet.  
  
Standing was something Harry knew full well he couldn’t do this high up the stairs and his right hand shot out to catch the wall but he still toppled sideways into Louis anyway. Louis’s arm held tight around his waist though and even with nearly all of Harry’s weight on him, he didn’t fall, the indestructible line of his shoulders didn’t falter. So even though Harry wasn’t quite sure which way was up, felt like he was going to faint ** _—_** yes, faint ** _—_** at any moment, Louis was a solid presence next to him, guiding him back down to the bottom of the stairs one at a time.  
  
It was the most controlled fall Harry had ever experienced.  
  
Falling for Louis had been nothing like this.  
  
When his feet touched down he sucked in a breath, eyes shooting open as everything refocused and the pressure lifted. He dropped to sit on the bottom step anyway.  
  
Louis followed him down, finally releasing his arm so he could squat in front of Harry, hands on Harry’s knees for balance.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Harry nodded, took another deep breath to resettle his heart from how close Louis had been, from where his thoughts had strayed, braced his palms on the step on either side of his legs because he wanted to kiss him so fucking much it hurt. It fucking hurt. He couldn’t control these thoughts as well in his dreams and he didn't fucking know why, but he _had_ to.  
  
Love was so fucking cruel, so bloody vicious and Louis had made his feelings so fucking clear on that blood-red stage.  
  
They were here because Louis was cursed, because he couldn’t get back to his own body and Louis needed to remember and Harry needed to stop thinking this way so he could actually hel ** _—_**  
  
“Jesus,” Louis breathed, head falling forward on his chest before he caught Harry’s face in his hands again to make him look up. “Don’t try fucking shit like that again.” He hit Harry in the chest, only hard enough to make a point. “I fucking swear, Haz, if you even fucking _think_ ** _—_** "  
  
“Sorry,” he cut in a mite breathlessly, not really because of the hit at all if he were being quite honest with himself, before Louis could work himself up into threatening something else of Harry’s. His wee creature had already been sacrificed, but he didn’t need to give Louis another reason to mess with his rom-com collection. “I forgot.”  
  
“You what?” Louis laughed, but it sounded more incredulous than amused, like Harry had just tried to give the lamest excuse for getting caught stealing biscuits from their own fucking cupboard. “You fucking _forgot_? As in this has fucking happened before?”  
  
Harry nodded again, even with Louis’s hand still on his face. Louis seemed to have forgotten it was there and Harry wasn’t about to remind him.  
  
“On stage. When I found you. Had to go up to get to you.”  
  
If he thought that explanation would make Louis less incredulous, he was very wrong. Louis’s lips actually fell open in shock.  
  
Harry wanted to touch them, run his thumb along them, wanted to kiss him. He wanted to close his eyes to stop looking, but Louis _was_ fish-mouthing a bit now and that was a bit funny too. It wasn’t often he left Louis speechless after all.  
  
“What ** _—_**?... Like that? How did you ** _—_** "  
  
Well, half-speechless.  
  
Harry nodded, but before he could say anything Louis’s face darkened, lips pressing together as he surged up from his spot in front of Harry, pacing, hand on his hip. His gaze flit back and forth across the floor in front of him as though trying to piece it all together. He stopped, didn't look up.  
  
“Where the fuck did you even get a sleeping pill? I know you don’t need them.”  
  
“Zayn. They’re prescription so they’re really strong,” Harry said without thinking, watching Louis but not getting up. “Says he has them for tour because sometimes he can’t ** _—_** "  
  
“Why the fuck does he need prescription sleeping pills?! Why hasn’t he fucking said anything to us?!”  
  
If Harry meant to calm him down, he’d gone about it the wrong way, because Louis just seemed to be more agitated now at that news. Harry understood, they’d all been just as surprised and concerned too but right now it was more important to help Louis get back to his body and they all knew that.  
  
He started to rise and tell him that but Louis rounded on him the moment he moved.  
  
“And you just fucking took it! Without fucking thinking about the consequences? The fuck is wrong with you, Harry!”  
  
The force of his words took Harry by surprise.  
  
“It’s just a sleeping pill. I’m not allergic to any medicines and ** _—_** "  
  
“So that makes it fucking ok?” Louis flung his arm out towards the stairs behind Harry, as though they held a replay of what had just happened. “You think just because you’re not allergic it makes _that_ fucking ok? The fuck were you bloody thinking?!”  
  
“I was _thinking_ about you!” Harry finally shouted, matching Louis’s volume so he could say something and actually have Louis hear him. “Because I had to fucking get back to you!”  
  
“I could have fucking waited! Nothing is fucking worth-" Louis motioned at the stairs behind Harry again, jaw clenching. “You’re such a fucking idiot! Fuck!”  
  
“Well maybe _I_ couldn’t fucking wait!” Harry pushed away from the stairs, closer to Louis. “I _left you_ , Lou! And you _weren’t there_ and we don’t have _time_ anymore! You _have_ to remember and you can’t remember if I’m not asleep to give you your fucking body!”  
  
“We have enough fucking time for you to fall asleep on your own and not do that!” Louis was still looking at the stairs, like he couldn’t stop himself.  
  
“What? Fall asleep? Alright so I can’t wake up right now! That makes two of us! It’s not a big deal!”  
  
“It is a fucking big deal, you arsehole!” Louis’s hands flew up as though he were about to shove at Harry again to knock his point of view into him but this time he seemed to stopped himself, squeezing them into fists instead.  
  
Harry looked at the steps too and then back to Louis, jaw clenching.  
  
“It’s not like I fucking intended for this to happen! I didn’t know! I’m not fucking _giving myself up_ for no fucking good reason like someone else I fucking know.”  
  
“That was fucking different and you bloody well know it,” Louis growled.  
  
“Really? It was really fucking different?” Harry whirled away from Louis and strode back to the stairs. If it was so fucking different for Louis then fine. Skipping the first stair he'd just stepped onto the second when a hand closed over his wrist and wrenched him backwards, hard enough that he stumbled to the ground level again. Louis shoved him against the wall next to the stairwell before Harry could find his balance, forearm locked over Harry’s chest to pin him there.  
  
“The fuck are you doing!”  
  
“What else? Going to fucking sleep. That’s apparently my fucking role in all this. Just sleep, Haz. Sleep so Tommo can have his body. Sleep so Tommo can remember. Just fucking go to sleep!”  
  
He bucked against Louis’s hold on him but Louis knocked him back against the wall.  
  
“You fucking try that again and I’ll ** _—_** "  
  
“What? You’ll what, Lou?” Harry cut him off but didn’t touch him, didn’t try to move, pinned Louis with his eyes while Louis pinned his body. “Yell at me? Scream at me because you’re being forced to watch the person you care most about walk straight into your fucking nightmares like it doesn’t mean anything? Like they don’t fucking mean everything to you?”  
  
Louis’s grip on his shirt tightened and then he wrenched himself away with one more shove at Harry.  
  
“You fucking bastard. You don’t get to fucking say shit like that and ** _—_** "  
  
“I get to say whatever the fuck I want!” Harry didn’t move from the wall, didn’t need to, even when Louis turned his back to him. “I get it. I know you don’t fucking feel the same way, but I won’t, I _won’t_ let you walk away doubting that how I feel about you is fucking real when I’ve never given you any fucking reason to not believe me.”  
  
Louis whipped around again, pointing a finger at the ground, eyes as dark as his expression.  
  
“You don’t know how I feel. No one knows how I fucking feel! Everyone thinks they know what I fucking feel but none of you, _none of you_ know what you’re fucking talking about! You don’t know what you’re fucking saying.”  
  
Harry smacked his hands into the wall he was still leaning against.  
  
“I know exactly what I’m saying because they’re _my_ fucking feelings!”  
  
Louis threw a hand out with a quick flick of his wrist, waving Harry's words away like he was dismissing him.  
  
“Right. Because you had them before anyone else knew, because you ‘loved me first’, before all that. Because that makes it fucking real, yea?”  
  
What the actual fuck.  
  
“It’s _real_ because I feel it! Because I’m the one who knows how I fucking feel! Jesus Christ, Lou! Why does it fucking matter if anyone else knows too?!”  
  
Louis shoved a finger into his own chest, right against the bone.  
  
“Because it fucking matters! Because it’s _my_ fucking life!” He threw his arms out again. “Why can’t the way we act be how best mates act? Why should we have to not say the shit we say to each other? Why can’t _we_ live together but the rest of the fucking world can and no one cares? Why do I have to be fucking in love with you for the way we are to be fucking ok!”  
  
“You don’t _have_ to be in love with me, fuck!” Harry couldn’t deny how much that hurt, that loving him would be some twisted sort of obligation. “The way we act _is_ how best mates act because we _are_ best mates!”  
  
Louis threw his arm out towards him like blame, like he hadn’t even heard him.  
  
“And now you’re saying you’re fucking in love with me because they fucking got to you too! They got even you thinking we’re wrong for not feeling that way and now after three fucking years you’re going to pull this shit and prove them all fucking right!”  
  
He whirled away from Harry again, shoving his hands into his hair before he ripped them back out with a growl of frustration, pacing towards the opposite wall.  
  
Harry didn’t understand. Fucking hell he didn’t _understand_. He shoved himself off the wall and swept his arms out, baring himself. Let Louis throw blame at him for how he felt all he wanted, he’d take it because he wasn’t about to deny it.  
  
“So what if everyone was right about me? I don’t care! Why should I care if our fans or the magazines or the haters are right about how I feel about you? Why should it matter if they’re right?!”  
  
Louis whipped back around.  
  
“Because if they’re fucking right about how we really feel about each other than what else are they right about!?”  
  
The angry scream slammed right into Harry’s chest, loud enough to physically knock him back. Harry was stunned, knew it was painted all over his face. Long after Louis’ shout finished echoing through the hallway, he stayed frozen, just stared in shock as Louis seemed to realize what he’d just said and immediately regret it.   
  
Louis shoved the back of his hand over his mouth, hand on his hip before he turned away from Harry only to smash the side of his fist against the wall.  
  
Like that action had pressed the button to release him, Harry closed the distance and caught his arm, tried to get him to turn back.  
  
“Lou ** _—_** " His heart was trying to beat him in getting to Louis, but flying up into his throat to get to Louis wasn’t going to help. He swallowed his little creature back down, only held on more tightly when Louis tried to break free and refused to turn around. “Lou," he choked out again, barely able to get the question out that he’d never thought to ask, carefully repeating it using Louis’s own words. “How do we really feel about each other?”  
  
Louis closed his eyes, shook his head, wrenched his arm free and shoved off the wall away from him.  
  
And maybe any other time Harry would have let him, but not now, not with this. He lunged and caught Louis before he could make it two steps, holding onto both his biceps from behind this time.  
  
“Lou.“ He twisted around to the front before Louis could attempt to shrug him off and caught Louis’s face in his hands, so carefully, so gently, trying to get Louis to look at him, his heart peering anxiously, hopefully through the bars of its cage. His lips were dry but his palms were sweaty. “Do you...Do you feel the same way I do?”  
  
He couldn’t get Louis to look at him. He tried, but Louis just closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he reached up to grip Harry’s wrists, to hold on, to pull them away, Harry didn’t know.  
  
“Lou ** _—_** "  
  
“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know, alright? Are you fucking happy now?”  
  
Harry let go.  
  
Louis jerked back, put two steps between them again, fingers shoving against his temples as he turned away. Harry tried to piece it all together, tried to understand how Louis could sound so hurt and so angry at the same time.  
  
“How...how can you not know?”  
  
Louis snorted, didn’t turn back.  
  
“Well fuck, Haz, I don’t fucking know. Maybe I should just listen to what the entire fucking world has been saying? Because _obviously_ no one fucking believes me when I deny it. We can’t all be as fucking lucky as you and just figure shit out on our own before anyone else does.”  
  
“Figure out before ** _—_** " Harry shook his head, staring at Louis’s back. He wanted so desperately to understand. “I don’t ** _—_**...What do you mean ‘listen’? Why do you keep bringing up the whole world, Lou. This has nothing to do with the press or our fans or anyone else. They’re not a part of this.”  
  
“Of course they’re a part of this. They’re a part of every fucking thing we do, every fucking move we make someone has a fucking comment to make about it.”  
  
“But they’re _not_! Christ, Lou! You’re acting like what everyone else says is all that fucking matters! Why the fuck does it _matter_ to you what anyone else thinks about what you feel!?”  
  
Louis whirled around, throwing his arm out into the empty air of the corridor.  
  
“Because I won’t let them fucking dictate my love life too!”  
  
For the second time, the force of his words slammed into Harry, hard enough that Harry fell back against the wall when the realization beat all the air from his lungs. All he could do was stare at Louis, mind whirling as he suddenly understood, understood so much, understood too much.  
  
“That’s it, isn’t it.” The quiet, choked words weren't for Louis but he didn’t care if Louis could hear him. Because suddenly it hurt, everything _hurt_. “You’d rather prove the rest of the world wrong than admit to yourself that you might feel something for me.”  
  
The anger on Louis’s face faded away to shock as he stood frozen, staring openly at Harry, speechless.  
  
He was fucking speechless.  
  
Of all the times ** _—_** when Harry so desperately needed Louis to tell him he was fucking wrong ** _—_** of all the fucking times for Louis to be speechless.  
  
And it was now.

He couldn't breathe.

His wee creature was curling back up in his chest again after stupidly daring to hope, that worst of all emotions, trying to hide away from the relentless waves of pain that were coming at it instead of a rush of warmth, the waves bashing down one after the other. He slid down to the floor, stared in shock at it, as though somehow it would have the answers, a way to make it all stop hurting.  
  
He loved Louis. Louis was his best mate, but he’d never once considered that the possibility of being together would be an obligation, that the chance to be something more would mean less to Louis than proving to the world that no one could tell Louis Tomlinson what to do.  
  
He’d thought he’d prepared for every possibility if Louis ever found out his feelings, but never the one where Louis maybe felt the same, never one where Louis had feelings for him too and _denied_ them. Denied them because... because of what? What could possibly be worth denying _love_? What was so wrong with love? Isn’t that what everyone spent their whole lives searching for, wishing for, hoping for?  
  
And just like that, he understood nothing all over again.  
  
Louis dropped down next to him, hand braced on the wall.  
  
“Hazza, that’s ** _—_** "  
  
“Don’t.” Harry curved over himself, head in his hands. Because he knew how he felt about Louis, but that didn’t mean he wanted to feel this hurt, this indescribable pain. He wasn’t prepared for it, wasn’t prepared to handle this right now.  
  
“Harry, please ** _—_** "  
  
“Then what is it, Lou. If that’s not it, what is it?” He dragged his gaze up from the floor between his feet to stare at Louis’ shocked face. He couldn’t understand why Louis looked so stunned, as though Harry had just slapped him in the face and not the other way round. He couldn’t _begin_ to understand. But this time he wasn’t giving Louis an inch, stared straight at him. And when Louis looked everywhere on his face but at his eyes, Harry didn’t look away.  
  
“I’m _listening_.” And he was. The plea was there; he wanted so desperately to understand, to hear that he’d gotten this all so completely wrong. He’d already gotten so much so completely wrong but this ** _—_**... “Tell me. _Tell me_ what it is then. Please.”  
  
Louis said nothing.  
  
“Would being with me be so wrong? Is that it? Is it that I’m some sort of obligation? What is it? What _is it_ , Lou. _Please_.”  
  
Louis shook his head, lips parting as though to speak, but still he said nothing.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath that shuddered through the broken spaces in his ribs.  
  
“ _Why_ , if you feel something, _anything_ for me, would you not want to even try?”  
  
“Haz, I ** _—_** " Louis cut off again, looked so lost, so painfully lost. And the agony on Louis’s face ** _—_** even now he was still so fucking beautiful ** _—_** on top of Harry's own anguish was too much to bear.  
  
He couldn’t stop them then, couldn’t stop the tears welling in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. And he didn’t want to. Because tears had always helped his heart to hurt a little less, just enough to breathe. He needed to breathe right now.  
  
Louis surged closer, hand lighting desperately on Harry’s cheek.  
  
“Shit shit, no Hazza, please don’t ** _—_** "  
  
“If you dare fucking tell me to stop crying,” he whispered hoarsely. He looked right at Louis, stared straight into his eyes, blinked so the tears in his own fell and brought Louis back into focus again. “I have every fucking right to cry and you have no fucking right to tell me not to.”  
  
Louis’s hand fell away from him as though he’d been burned.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry needed to move. He couldn’t...he needed to...  
  
He stumbled back to his feet, pushed off the wall and walked. He didn’t know where he was going because he didn’t understand exactly where they were, didn’t have the innate sense he’d had in all the other dreams, didn’t even have half the understanding he’d had in the nightmare. Everything was just this side of foreign, so obviously a dream to him except the indescribable pain erupting through his chest, tearing him in places he didn’t know he could be torn.  
  
He didn’t know if Louis was following him, wished he didn’t care that he didn’t know, but wouldn’t turn around no matter how much he did care and always would care. He just kept walking, walking until the ceilings gave way and soared straight up, kept walking right onto the stage, into the bright lights and the movement of thousands of fans who were all screaming.  
  
He heard no sound. Someone had pressed the mute button on his dream.  
  
He sat down at the edge of the stage, legs dangling off, hands gripping the ledge. There were thousands of fans in front of him, but he could hear them only in the sense that he knew what they sounded like. The noise didn’t change, they didn’t notice he was even there.  
  
And that was ok.  
  
This wasn’t real. None of this was real anyway.  
  
He stared out over the crowds of people, couldn’t focus on any one face.  
  
But Louis was real. Louis was real and everything he said was real and Harry hurt now in places he didn’t know he could hurt.  
  
He couldn’t focus on this right now.  
  
Compartmentalise, Harry. You just have to control it, take away your trigger.  
  
His trigger wasn’t there anymore. Or maybe he was. Harry couldn’t see him.  
  
Harry stared out past the endless crowds of people, stared into the black at the back of the arena where he was sure the doors to get in, get out, get concessions, get tickets, all of that was back there. But all he saw was black, the dream fading at the edges, ending where it wasn’t important.  
  
The only important part of this dream was somewhere behind him anyway.  
  
The shadows twisted and wriggled at the edges of his vision.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. No. This wasn’t that nightmare anymore. A nightmare, but not that nightmare. He had to focus. Louis had to remember, he had to get out and back to his body.  
  
Someone came to stand behind him, maybe a foot away. His wee creature perked up with one large thump before curling back up and cowering again.  
  
“I’ve had years to accept and be happy with the way things are,” he said quietly, before Louis could say anything. “I need more than a minute to accept...this.”  
  
Louis squatted down almost next to him, just behind his right shoulder.  
  
“Hazza ** _—_** "  
  
“Stop.” Harry shook his head, flexed his fingers against the edge of the stage. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to spend the next however fucking long always wondering if whatever you say to me right now is just to get me to stop fucking crying.”  
  
“Harry, I ** _—_** "  
  
“Just go, Lou.” He couldn’t help how bitter that phrase came out. “Go find the club. Go remember.”  
  
Louis sighed. In the corner of Harry's vision Louis ducked his head, the tips of his fingers flat against the stage between his legs to keep him balanced on the balls of his feet.  
  
“I can’t.” He didn’t look up when he said it.  
  
“Don’t.” Harry didn’t turn to look at him. “Don’t tell me you can’t. I know you can.”  
  
Louis looked up, looked at him, but Harry wasn’t ready to look back.  
  
“I can’t. Not without you.”  
  
Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to give a proper snort, so it came out as a quiet huff of air.  
  
“Maybe you think you can’t, but you don’t need me to remember. You’re the one who has to remember. And if getting to the club is how you remember, then only you can get you to the club.”  
  
“No, Haz, I mean ** _—_** " Louis scrubbed his free hand over his face. “I can’t ** _—_**...I won’t. I won’t remember without you.”  
  
Harry did manage to snort this time, pushing his fingers into his temples like it would actually help.  
  
“You don’t have a choice.”  
  
“We always have a fucking choice. Right?” Louis murmured, repeating what Harry had said to him in the nightmare, voice so soft yet so very loud all the same.  
  
Harry didn’t want to remember that moment, those fucking last words he’d said that had triggered Louis to start to remember. He wasn’t ready to relive that moment in any way. It only redoubled his efforts to squash down the mess of pain and confusion in his chest. Louis had to remember so he could get out so that that moment would never, never happen again. He didn’t want to hear Louis parroting his words back at him just to make Harry think he’d listened, just to calm him down.  
  
So when Louis reached out to him and his hand touched down over Harry’s on the stage, Harry surged upright and spun to the left to walk away without having to face him, pacing back to centre-stage. In his peripheral Louis slowly rose and turned to face him, but he didn’t move closer.  
  
“You know what the most ironic part of this whole fucking thing is?” he finally asked, stopping and whirling to Louis, standing only a couple feet away from him now even though moments ago there was an entire stage between them.  
  
Louis’s jaw clenched, the pain still there in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
Harry nodded out towards the unending crowds of their fans.  
  
“They’re all screaming. They’re all screaming for us, and all I can hear is you.” He laughed, but it held no mirth. How could it? This was all just too fucking ironic to be amusing. “A sea of fucking faces, an ocean of voices, _screaming_ at the top of their lungs, and all I can hear is yours. All you have to do is fucking whisper and all I hear is you.”  
  
For a moment Louis looked startled. He opened his mouth to say something but Harry shoved a hand through his hair, the other on his hip and turned his back to Louis, pacing away from him. Louis was watching him, he could feel the electricity of Louis's gaze on him. Always could. He stopped in front of Louis again, shook his head, stared out over the crowds behind Louis.  
  
“So fucking ironic, isn’t it? Of all the voices that could never get lost in the fucking crowd, and you really think yours can.”  
  
He looked straight at Louis then, at the line between his brows and the crinkles just barely there at the edges of his eyes, at the stark pain in them. Harry didn’t look away.  
  
“You. The loudest fucking person I know. You’ve actually fucking _let it_. You don’t want anyone dictating your fucking life but that’s exactly what you’re letting everyone do. You. _You_. Louis _Fucking_ Tomlinson. Jesus fucking Christ.”  
  
Louis’s eyes closed, but it was the only part of him that moved.  
  
That didn’t surprise Harry either. He’d told Louis not to say anything, was surprised for a moment that he was actually listening. Then again, he was probably just doing Louis a favour, letting him go quiet and clam up and shut down the way he always did whenever something mattered, whenever something actually mattered to Harry.  
  
There were few things that mattered as much to Harry as Louis.  
  
So no, no fucking surprise there.  
  
He could feel the pain in his wee creature slowly being replaced by anger and he let it. He was angry with Louis, _at_ Louis. It was an anger that didn’t even have to do with how Harry felt or how Louis felt or didn’t feel about him. None of this had anything to do with how Harry felt anymore. That was nothing compared to what Louis was doing to himself.  
  
“You. Of all _fucking_ people, _you_. You, who care so fucking much about _everyone_ like they’re all actually more fucking important than you.” He was shouting now, couldn’t be arsed to care, couldn’t be arsed to care that he was inches away from Louis as he shouted. “You, who spend so much fucking time refusing to let perfect fucking strangers have a say in your life, making sure every fucking person knows that the great Louis Tomlinson can’t be fucking told what to do. You _chose_ this. You _chose_ to let them have a say.”  
  
He flung his hands out and splayed his fingers at Louis but didn’t touch him.  
  
Louis didn’t move.  
  
“ _You_ , Louis _Not like I have a fucking choice_ Tomlinson _chose_ this. Like you _chose_ this fucking curse, you fucking chose it all.”  
  
He threw his arms out, twisted a bit, showing Louis the dream, the fans, the entire fucking world.  
  
“So is that it? They don’t dictate your fucking life if it was your choice to let them? Is that how this all works? Or is it that Louis fucking Tomlinson won’t do anything unless he comes up with it first? Because if you don’t come up with it first then clearly you’re just fucking blindly following whatever someone else said? Is that it!? Did you fucking forget the part where any fucking decision you make if it’s made because of what someone else will think is _still not your fucking decision_?! You _can’t_ just be some fucking puppet! You’re Louis fucking Tomlinson! Do you have any fucking idea at all how fucking important you are to everyone?! You can’t just fucking...fucking...Fuck!”  
  
Watching Louis watching him now, staring right at him but saying nothing to defend himself, nothing to deny any of this, nothing to take back all the fucking power he’d given away, take back some of his power even from _Harry_ was too much. He wanted to throw something. He wanted to shake him, shake him until he fucking _understood_. Instead all he could do was growl in frustration in a desperate effort not to scream.  
  
Suddenly he wished he had something to hit, something nearby to shove. His hands clenched into fists, did nothing to help.  
  
All he had was Louis, standing so close in front of him their foreheads could almost touch, stone-faced and silent in front of him in the middle of the stage with his back to their fans, overshadowing them all in Harry’s vision. The fucking Sunshine King King of Sunshine himself with his head held high even now stooping to let the lowliest peasant who didn’t even care about him, didn’t even _know_ him, tell him what he could and couldn’t do, should and shouldn’t do, feel and not feel, like any fucking opinion mattered more than Louis’s.  
  
“Fuck! Fucking hell, Louis! FUCK!”  
  
That final scream dragged all the frustrated tension from Harry's shoulders and he dropped his head, scrubbing his hands over his face and into his hair, hiding away from the pain still slashed so clearly through blue eyes, wishing he could physically will it all away.  
  
“What the fuck have you been saying to yourself,” he choked out, eyes burning. It was barely more than a whisper, so quiet compared to the screaming he’d just done, but he couldn’t keep the pain from leaking back into his voice, the words both meant and not meant for Louis to hear.  
  
He was standing too close to Louis for him to not hear.  
  
He whirled away from Louis again, shoving a hand over his mouth and just trying to breathe.  
  
He was useless when he wasn’t in control, useless to help someone he loved so bloody much, who he'd already let down in every possible way but despite all that still needed him to stay focused right now more than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut, shoved his thumb and index finger into them hard enough to see spots in his vision. He didn’t know how he was seeing spots in his vision. Because this was all just a fucking dream.  
  
None of this was real. None of this was fucking real.  
  
Louis was fucking real. Harry loved him so fucking much and love was so fucking vicious. Louis was his fucking best mate and he wasn’t going to just sit back and be a part of this, of watching Louis do this to himself.  
  
He wasn’t ever about to leave Louis either. He’d made that promise time and time again, every time he reminded himself why he’d never told Louis how he felt in the first place. Every time Zayn asked why he didn’t. He'd made that promise even now to the closed door of a dream dressing room however long ago. He wasn’t about to leave Louis now.  
  
Because he fucking loved him.  
  
Love or in love, it didn’t matter. He loved him. And Louis needed his help. Louis _said_ he needed his help. Louis _said_ he wouldn’t do this without him. He was going to trust him on that. He trusted him. Louis Tomlinson didn’t ask for help unless he truly meant it.  
  
Harry turned back again, crowding back into Louis’s personal space, reaching for him only to stop, pushing his hands into his hair instead, squeezing, dropping them back to his sides, holding them back up again, hovering right in front of Louis’s chest, almost touching down twice, never making it, fingers splayed, showing he was unarmed.  
  
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m done now. I’m sorry. I’m done. Fuck.” He kept repeating it, eyes closed, then open, forcing how he felt to match his words. Louis needed him to focus, to be calm, to help, not scream at him.  
  
Louis didn't move. Head down watching Harry’s hands but not reaching for him, Harry couldn't read whatever look was on his face and he wondered if he'd ever truly been able to read Louis at all.  
  
Harry didn’t know what he was feeling, what he was thinking, wondered if he ever did anymore. He kept staring down at his hands hovering over Louis’s chest rather than at Louis’s face because at least this way he couldn’t even try to figure out what Louis was thinking.

Peace. They needed peace. Peace like the fucking peace sign fingers staring up at him from Louis’ shirt.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m done. I’m fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m done. I’m done now, I’m ** _—_** "  
  
“Hazza.” Louis breathed his name ** _—_** that single hoarse word ** _—_** out, caught between needing to say it and not knowing if he should, like he didn’t know what Harry would do if he spoke so he was trying to push too many different emotions into one word but they all got jumbled until no single emotion came through and only made the word sound like something of a desperate prayer.  
  
Harry knew that feeling so well, so fucking well.  
  
Louis suddenly latched onto his wrist, grip so tight it reminded Harry of a very different situation in a much darker arena.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
Harry frowned at the odd question coupled with what sounded like alarm in Louis’s voice, opened his eyes again and turned, looked down at ** _—_**  
  
Turned?  
  
Down?  
  
He blinked, looked away from the obvious surprise, confusion, and pain on Louis’s face and found himself stood halfway up the steps stage-left towards the walkway.  
  
He didn't remember walking to them. He didn’t remember walking up them. He was well past the fifth step where he’d collapsed the first time and the last time he’d unknowingly ended up on stairs ** _—_**  
  
“I think I’m waking up.”  
  
Just like that all the pain, all the anger, was shoved aside and replaced with fear, that all encompassing emotion that could wipe out anything else.

He couldn’t wake up, not yet, not before Louis remembered.  
  
Louis had to remember.  
  
Harry cast his mind back, trying to get a sense of how long he’d been asleep even though that was impossible, because time didn’t follow the same rules here. He thought back to the last set of stairs he’d been on, trying to remember exactly how far up he’d gone before the pressure had hit him but all he could remember were Louis's eyes, the searing heat of Louis's hands on his face.

He didn’t doubt that if he made it to the top of these stairs this time, he’d wake up.  
  
Louis’s brows furrowed but he seemed to be accepting what was happening at the same rate that the terrifying realization was washing over Harry. He nodded and released Harry’s wrist but Harry only latched onto Louis’s the moment he let go.  
  
“Shit. Shit. I can’t wake up now.”  
  
Harry threw himself back down the stairs, dragging Louis with him, backing as far away from the stairs as he could get, his grip on Louis white-knuckled.  
  
“Jesus, Harry! Fuck, what ** _—_** "  
  
“I can’t wake up. I can’t wake up now.” Harry still didn’t let go of Louis’s wrist, but he wasn’t sure if he was still holding on to keep himself there, or to keep Louis there.  
  
The pain in Louis’s eyes mixed with that surprise and melted into resignation. His eyes closed. He slowly shook his head.  
  
“If you were just walking up then that means you can now. It’s ok. You can. Just go.”  
  
“Stop fucking saying that,” Harry bit out, forcing himself to take another breath. “You need to remember.”  
  
Confusion spread across Louis’s face, like he couldn’t keep up. And fuck did Harry know that feeling too, so fucking well. Louis hesitated.  
  
“Stop saying what?”  
  
He said it like he didn’t want to ask, like he didn’t want Harry to know he didn’t know. Because Louis Tomlinson never got confused. Louis Tomlinson couldn’t be confused, could he. That was Harry’s job.  
  
So _he_ explained.  
  
“Just go.” Harry grit out, putting every bitter ounce of the commanding tone it was to him into it. And then he couldn’t stop. “Just go. ‘Just go, Haz.’ ‘Just fucking go.’ ‘If you really fucking love me then fucking go.’ Just go just go, go go ** _—_** "  
  
“Ok,” Louis whispered.  
  
“ ** _—_** just go just fucking go why won’t you just fucking go why won’t you _listen to me_ and _just fucking go_ because _I fucking did listen_ and I’m done fucking leaving you how many times do I have to fucking _listen_ _to you_ and _go_ before you fucking get it that every time I leave it’s because _you want me to_ and not what I want I don’t _want_ to fucking leave you I never want to fucking leave you, L ** _—_**!“  
  
“Ok!” Louis wrenched the wrist Harry had in a death grip into his chest.  
  
Caught off guard, Harry stumbled forward into Louis and Louis caught his face in both hands, even with his hand still latched around Louis’s wrist.  
  
“Ok! Ok, Hazza. Ok. Alright? Ok. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, ok?” Louis bumped his forehead against Harry's, eyes closing and voice quieter, placating. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go, ok? I just wanted you to know it’s ok if you need to. I won’t say it again. Ok?”  
  
At the desperation in Louis’s voice, Harry sucked a couple of breaths in, gripped onto Louis’s other wrist now too and held on, shocked at how quickly he’d worked back up. He needed to get a better control on himself.  
  
“You need to remember,” he mumbled, keeping his voice quiet until he was certain he’d calmed back down.  
  
Louis’ shoulders rose then fell with a shaky breath; his hands fell from Harry’s jaw to curve over his shoulders.  
  
“I’ll remember. I will, Haz. I told you I will.”  
  
The quiet promise wasn’t good enough. Just thinking about how Louis looked right now outside of this dream and Harry was shaking his head all over again, staring down at the floor like maybe it would have an anchor to keep him there. When he couldn’t find one he tightened his grip on the only person who had always been there to anchor him since his life had completely changed. Louis actually pulled back enough to look down at the hold Harry had on him.  
  
“No. You...” Harry swallowed, suddenly unable to keep that slight shake out of his voice, trying to get him to understand. “You _need_ to remember, Lou. You need to remember now.”  
  
“Why ** _—_** ” Louis nudged his knuckle beneath Harry’s chin to draw Harry’s eyes back up to him, but he didn’t try to break away. He was so close again, only inches away and Harry suddenly found he couldn’t meet Louis's eyes. “What. What haven’t you told me, Haz.”  
  
Harry shook his head, shook off Louis’s hand on his chin, stared down at the collar of Louis’ shirt instead. He’d told Louis what he needed to know. Louis needed to just _remember_.  
  
“Harry, whatever it is I can handle ** _—_** "  
  
“I know you can handle it! You obviously can handle anything but that doesn’t make it any easier for _me_ to say out loud!” Harry blurted, though he still meant every word. Telling Louis meant saying it out loud and saying it out loud made it real. Too real.  
  
Louis twisted his wrists out of Harry’s grip but caught his jaw this time between warm palms, forcing Harry to look at him. He glanced between Harry’s eyes like he was reading them.  
  
He probably was.  
  
“It’s my body, isn’t it.”  
  
Shoving out all the air in his lungs until his shoulders sagged too, Harry curled his fingers into Louis’ shirt at his hips to hold on somewhere else, closed his eyes, nodded, tipped forwards in his resignation until his head bumped right back into Louis’s. Louis didn’t pull away.  
  
“There’s more to it than what you told me.”  
  
Harry nodded again, but didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t speak in the silence. The silence lingered for three beats, then he heard Louis exhale.  
  
“Not looking so good then, am I,” he murmured.  
  
“You always look good.” Harry blurted that too, quiet without meaning to be really, like his mind was already resigned to knowing that was going to come out of his mouth whether he wanted it or not. The words ended up coming out a bit resigned too, like they pained him to say when no, no he’d never think that.  
  
He opened his eyes and picked his head back up, prepared to explain, but found Louis just studying him, expression still pained, resigned, but also soft somehow too. Louis stroked his thumbs once over Harry’s cheekbones again and like magic his eyes closed from the gentle touch and his shoulders relaxed a little bit more. He wondered if Louis did that on purpose, if he’d figured out that magic trick in the midst of this massive magic trick.  
  
“‘Course I do."  
  
Harry could hear the faint tease in his voice, like he was testing the waters, and had never been more grateful for that tease.  
  
“But me ability to steal the hearts of many isn’t going to help me now, yea?”  
  
Harry nodded again, unable to help but mirror Louis’ small smile, latching for all he was worth on to something they both knew how to do so well, something that was so completely theirs.  
  
“Not if no one can see those eyes or hear that golden tongue of yours.”  
  
It took a flash of a moment for Louis to recognize the words, but then his smile widened to show a hint of teeth even if his eyes narrowed and he dropped his hands from Harry’s face. They were standing so close that Louis had to take a small step back so he had room to cross his arms and complete the look.  
  
“You mocking me, Haz?”  
  
Harry’s smile went dimply when Louis gave him such an obvious opening to do just that.  
  
“You need no help from me with that, Lou.”  
  
Louis’s eyes widened comically and he darted back in, trying to get at one of Harry’s nipples.  
  
“You are, you bloody wanker!”  
  
Harry just burst out laughing, letting the laughter shove all the pain out of him for now, curling over himself right there in the middle of the stage to protect his precious family of nipples.  
  
“I thought that was Zayn? Is the great Louis Tomlinson recycling insults now?”  
  
“I’m about to recycle you and get a new alien,” Louis huffed far too indignantly, not giving up his single-minded quest to twist Harry’s nipple.  
  
But Harry had so much practice with this.  
  
He caught Louis’s wrists like he was holding the blade side of the swords Louis was brandishing at him, whirling around behind Louis so Louis’s arms were crossed over his own chest and he was caught in Harry’s grip.  
  
“You can’t. My mum always tells me I’m one of a kind,” he said right into Louis’s ear.  
  
Louis rolled his eyes, flexed his arms to try and break free.  
  
“Well your mum got stuck with a really small fucking sample.”  
  
“Small sample maybe.” He grinned nuzzling his nose into Louis’s neck. “But the sample isn’t small.”  
  
“You’re so fucking full of yourself, no wonder you can’t fucking walk,” Louis shot back with a laugh, still wriggling against him to get out of Harry’s hold. His head fell back against Harry's shoulder but before Harry could answer that perfect set up, Louis twisted one hand out of his grasp, popped his hips to the side and slapped right between Harry’s legs. Flicking his wrist, he triumphantly darted out of arm’s reach as Harry curved over himself to catch his breath from the fleeting pain.  
  
“You were so overdue for that, Haz,” Louis grinned, crossing his arms once again over his chest like a victorious conqueror. A conquering king. A bloody sunshine king.  
  
Harry looked past Louis at the blinding lights of the stage backlighting him, highlighting him, the projection screens still lit up with the wild mash of those five symbols and shook his head, couldn’t stop smiling even if he tried.  
  
“Probably,” he laughed, a mite breathlessly, straightening up, standing right in front of Louis.  
  
He only knew he’d just taken out the ‘in-between’ of his dreams from the way Louis’s eyes widened in momentary surprise at him suddenly being so close, less than a foot between them. A Cheshire Cat grin wound it’s way onto Harry's face as slow as his speech, in time with the dawning realization spreading far-too-slow-for-Louis over Louis’s.  
  
“Shit!” Louis darted back just as Harry laughed and lunged for him, racing straight across the stage as Harry gave chase.  
  
Louis was fast, always had been, lighter on his feet than Harry ever was because he knew how to keep his balance and had two more years of practice with this thing called walking. But no matter what Louis did, where he darted or how he tried to lose Harry, it wasn’t working. It reminded Harry of trying to chase after him the last time they’d been on this stage in this dream. No matter how fast Louis had been and how terribly slow Harry had felt, he’d never actually lost sight of him. Like all he had to do was want to be with Louis and the scene kept shifting to reflect his mind.  
  
Louis skidded to a halt when he rounded the stairs only to find Harry right in front of him. He laughed, breathless, throwing his hands up and trying to back up but Harry caught his wrists again ** _—_** not about to fall for that trick ** _—_** and tugged Louis forward while backing up himself. Louis knocked into him right as Harry’s back hit the projection screen at the front that hid the stairs from the audience.  
  
Keeping Louis this close made it much harder for Louis to reach his nipples.  
  
The things you learn.  
  
“You fucking cheated, you arse,” Louis panted out between breaths, still grinning, completely relaxing against Harry’s hold on his wrists.  
  
Harry still didn’t buy it for a second though. He wasn’t going to be lulled into a false sense of security. So he didn’t let go, instead tipping forward to bump his forehead against Louis’s, catching his breath himself and saying again, “Probably.”  
  
Louis suddenly resisted, tried to get at his nipple again but Harry held fast, smirking, so very proud of himself for not falling for it. Louis’s arms went limp again in his hold with his fingers spread this time, like he was truly surrendering, hands slowly dropping onto Harry’s chest with Harry’s permission, proving that this time he wouldn’t try anything. Once his palms were resting flat against Harry, he didn’t try to pull away. Instead his eyes slid closed and he just went quiet, catching his breath.  
  
Louis's lips were parted, so close to Harry’s own and Harry couldn’t stop himself from tracking the movement when Louis’s tongue flicked out to wet them. When Louis’s fingers curved just barely into his chest, it took everything in Harry not to close the distance between them, the urge so undeniably strong all of a sudden. The bright white projection screen behind Harry was shining right through him like he wasn’t even there, lighting up Louis’s face almost too brightly and highlighting all his beautiful angles. The flush was back in his skin and the pink in his lips almost too vibrant in this dream ** _—_**  
  
Dream.  
  
The last image he had of Louis before he fell asleep flashed across his senses.  
  
He squeezed Louis’s wrists, hoping the physical pressure would give his words more weight and pull Harry back to here, to this moment.  
  
“You have to remember.”  
  
Louis tensed against him but still didn’t pull away.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Harry did though, just enough so he could see all of Louis’s face and make him open his eyes.  
  
“You...do want to remember, don’t you?”  
  
He didn’t know why he asked, couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had the thought crossing his mind.  
  
Louis pulled away just a bit too and opened his eyes and Harry’s breath caught when he did because the too-bright light still hitting his face went straight into them, turning them that shade of sky blue again so stunning they almost didn’t look real.  
  
That colour couldn’t be real. Louis couldn’t be real. No, Louis was real, he was so very very real and standing right here, so close, he’d never been this close when his eyes were this colour and ** _—_**  
  
Louis made a face, nose scrunching up.  
  
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”  
  
But...he’d hesitated. It was just an inhale, but an inhale right before he spoke, one that Harry heard so clearly because he was still so close.  
  
“Lou.”  
  
Louis’s fingers curled more, catching in Harry’s shirt now and he sighed. Harry was careful not to move as Louis closed his eyes and dropped his head just enough so that his fringe hid his face from Harry’s view.  
  
Harry had to admit that both actions helped him to breathe a bit easier too.  
  
“I fucking chose this, Haz.”  
  
Harry waited two beats before easing his quiet question into the silence.  
  
“Why?”  
  
He tried to keep the yearning out of his voice, but he remembered asking this before, screaming the question into Louis’s face while Louis was so unreachable, so far away from him that the mere memory of it only made him remember all over again just how close Louis was to him right now in comparison. He slid his hands up Louis’s wrists to cover his hands, holding them there against his chest with a gentle pressure, but he didn’t press more than that.  
  
His action was enough to make Louis open his eyes again, staring at their hands though Harry wasn’t sure if he knew where he was looking. Louis licked his lips again.  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. And...I don’t know if I want to know.”  
  
Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was the closest Louis had ever come to saying that he was afraid of something, but...  
  
“You know how to do it, don’t you?” He kept his voice quiet. “You know how to get to the club.” It wasn’t an accusation, just surprise, and even more surprise on top of that surprise when Louis slowly nodded.  
  
“Lou ** _—_** " Harry’s grip on his hands tightened and then he bumped his forehead back against Louis’s. Touching like this, even though they were so close, was like the screen of a confessional had been put up for Louis. As soon as their foreheads touched, Louis was speaking.  
  
“I ** _—_**... before you ** _—_** " He motioned with his hand and head towards the walkway above them to their left. “It’s ** _—_**....”  
  
“Whatever reason you had, it’s a bloody good one,” Harry reminded him when Louis gripped Harry's chest enough to stretch the fabric of his shirt and he finally gave up on trying to put his thoughts into words. His body was wound so tightly against Harry that Harry pressed Louis's hands against his chest, offering comfort the best way he knew how. “You wouldn't do this without a good reason. I know you, Lou. And if it was good enough for you, that makes it a good reason.”  
  
Louis snorted, though his grip on Harry's shirt relaxed with his shoulders. He bumped his forehead back against Harry's twice.  
  
“Or maybe I was just too fucking wasted to think straight,” he muttered, pulling back enough to give Harry a look, daring Harry to challenge that statement. “And I’m going to remember and we’ll all find out that this whole fucking thing was for nothing.”  
  
“No. I won’t ever believe that.” Harry shook his head, accepting that challenge with a small smile, but enough of one that one dimple popped out. “Maybe you needed to be wasted to choose this, but none of this was for nothing.” He let his smile bloom then into two dimples, squeezing Louis’s hands again. “Already told you that almost besting you in footie is staying in my _memories_ , not my dreams.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes and released Harry’s shirt, shook Harry’s hands off so he could clap his hands to Harry’s cheeks and squish his face out of the dimples and into fish lips, eyes twinkling and relieved even as he tried to look stern.  
  
“That will _always_ be a fucking dream for you, Harold.”  
  
Harry clapped his hands to Louis’s cheeks and squished his face right back.  
  
“Whatever you need to say to help you sleep at night.”  
  
While Louis was laughing at how ridiculous that came out with his lips squished together, Harry dropped his hands and twisted both of Louis’s nipples through his shirt, laughing when Louis squawked and jumped back out of reach, rubbing at his chest as though Harry had just twisted them right off.  
  
“Bastard,” he grumbled, even if he was still trying not to smile. “I bloody need these, you know.”  
  
Harry flashed him a beaming grin, because there was _definitely_ something to say to that.  
  
“I ** _—_** "  
  
Louis darted forwards and smacked him in the dick again and Harry hunched over himself and groaned.  
  
He groaned _at_ himself. Because he really should have seen that coming.  
  
By the time he straightened, Louis’s back was to him as he walked away, towards the front of the stage. He paused at the edge of the stage, the same spot where Harry had nearly lost Louis to the darkness of his nightmare. Before the flash of anxiety from the memory could take hold though, Louis turned to look at Harry over his shoulder, shooting him one of those trademark side-smirks that Harry loved so much and arching his eyebrow.  
  
“You coming? Or are those fucking balls of yours too big now.”  
  
“You asking if my fucking balls want to come? Or...” He asked without thinking, but wiggled his eyebrows suggestively a moment later anyway on the follow through, already closing the distance between them again. Louis didn’t move until Harry was right behind his shoulder, close enough so he could twist a little more at the waist to pat Harry’s cheek, smirk widening like he was trying not to let it turn into a full grin.  
  
“We’re going to the club, not the gutter, you fucking perv.”  
  
“Knowing your mind, they’re probably the same thing.”  
  
Surprisingly, Louis didn’t counter that, instead just turning away again, focusing down the aisle. But before Harry could let his surprise fully sink in, Louis said over his shoulder, “No points.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“Yea, yea. I know. Unoriginality.”  
  
Louis turned his head enough to wiggle his eyebrows at Harry this time.  
  
“You’re learning. Good lad.”  
  
He smacked Harry’s arse with an extra flourish, like it was congratulatory, and jumped down from the stage before Harry could answer, starting to walk down the aisle into the audience without looking back. As though he knew Harry would follow.  
  
“I ‘learned’, you mean. It is in the rulebook, you know,” Harry called, about to jump down and follow but unable to resist saying that first.  
  
Louis paused and turned to look, blue eyes tracking Harry until Harry caught up to him. Instead of speaking, he wiggled his eyebrows again, the ghost of a smile curving up the corner of his lips. They started back up the aisle once more towards the back of the arena, through the crowds of fans with blurred out faces.  
  
Harry stopped, so suddenly that it took Louis two steps to even notice. He turned, the question on his face.  
  
“Where are we going?” Harry finally asked. Because Louis seemed to know where they were going but according to Harry’s senses, the aisle just ended up ahead in black and that ** _—_**  
  
Louis nodded towards said darkness.  
  
“You taking the piss?”  
  
“Is it moving?”  
  
Harry stared into the darkness, but it just seemed empty, felt empty, like a black slate.  
  
“No. And neither are we. For good reason.”  
  
Louis took the two steps back to Harry, standing in front of him and placing himself between Harry and the end of the aisle where everything just...stopped.  
  
“Do you trust me?”  
  
“You? Most of the time, no. That?” He pointed around Louis at ‘the empty’. “Never.”  
  
“Good.” Louis nodded his head towards ‘the empty’ again. “Come on then.”  
  
“Pretty sure you didn’t just hear my answer,” Harry mused, but when Louis turned and started walking, his feet automatically followed.  
  
“Pretty sure I just did,” Louis shot him a sideways smirk when Harry caught up to his side once more.  
  
“Which part of that said I trust any of this?”  
  
“That would be when you said ‘most of the time’, Harold.”  
  
The darkness didn’t make any sense. The closer they got the more it stayed exactly the same. His eyesight didn’t adjust and start to pick out shapes as the world came into view. No, it just looked like the frayed edges of a dream where everything just...ended.  
  
“This is not natural,” he muttered.  
  
“No part of your mind is natural.” Louis paused again, right in front of ‘the empty’ now and turned to look at Harry.  
  
Harry couldn’t quite read his expression, but it felt a little bit like he was stalling one final time.  
  
Louis took a deep breath, let it out slowly.  
  
“Still going to come with?”  
  
He didn’t need Harry to answer that, didn’t even need to ask Harry that, but Harry nodded anyway.  
  
But just in case, when Louis stepped forward with one more faint smile, Harry caught the back of his shirt and held on as he followed him in.


	18. Chapter 18

The sudden silence was so striking that Harry swore his ears were ringing.  
  
He blinked.  
  
The long white corridor still looked like it could be part of the arena, but it was so empty, just a long straight hallway with closed doors on either side, as far as Harry could see. It also reminded him of the hospital where Jay worked and reminded him of the back hallways of the X-Factor studios, a weird mash of all three that made it so wholly unfamiliar but oddly familiar to him all the same.  
  
He glanced over at Louis, studied his profile as Louis took in the corridor, blue eyes flitting around as he stared at the doors, like there were more than he was expecting.  
  
Harry gazed back down the long corridor again, but he couldn’t see any difference in any of the doors, nothing to give him a clue as to where they needed to go.  
  
“Are you nervous?” Harry asked after several silent moments, as lightly as he could, careful not to look left at Louis.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Louis give him a sideways glance, eyebrow cocked.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You seem it a bit.”  
  
“Well I’m not.”  
  
Harry waited another minute before swinging his hips slightly, just enough to bump into Louis.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Louis turned more fully to face him now, obviously unimpressed.  
  
“Yes, Harold. I’m sure.”  
  
“So why are we ah ** _—_** _"_ he motioned down the long empty corridor with his hand, “ ** _—_** still standing here?”  
  
Louis’s brow crinkled and he turned to look back down the corridor again before he huffed, still hesitated, but then started walking forwards.  
  
“Why the fuck would I be nervous?”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“Gotta be nervous about something, now that you’re an international best-selling singer with millions of fans, right?”  
  
“So you think I’d be nervous about my own mind?”  
  
“Why would you say that?”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes. They were still walking but Louis didn’t seem to be paying attention to where they were going.  
  
“I didn’t. You did.”  
  
“Never said anything about your mind. Technically we’re in mine, sunshine.”  
  
“ _Literally_ we’re in yours. So clearly I’m not nervous about my own fucking mind.”  
  
“So you _are_ nervous then.”  
  
Louis jerked to a halt right outside of a door and whirled on Harry, arms crossing over his chest.  
  
“I’m _going_ to slap you in the dick.”  
  
“You _aren’t_ because you just told me instead.” Harry shielded himself anyway, then smirked and nodded behind Louis. “Is this it, then?”  
  
Louis seemed to notice where they were only when Harry mentioned it, turning to get a good look at the door. He frowned, looked down at the floor then back up at the door.  
  
“Reckon it is.”  
  
Harry touched his arm gently, urged him with a small smile and a nod.  
  
“Go on, then. I’ll wait here.”  
  
“No you’re coming all the way with,” Louis said without turning, reaching for the doorknob.  
  
Harry frowned at that, squeezing at his arm gently to stop him.  
  
“I don’t think I have to though.”  
  
Louis snorted, the one snort he always made if he didn’t actually say _obviously_.  
  
“Course you fucking don’t.” Louis was still staring at the door, but Harry saw the small smile on his lips, faint, but there. “Spent enough time in your mind, haven’t I? Think I can return the favour.”  
  
He was still pretty sure Louis was nervous. And he wondered if Louis actually knew what was going to happen when he opened the door. Harry certainly didn’t.  
  
“Lou, this isn’t ** _—_** "  
  
Louis turned with his hand on the doorknob and shut Harry up with a look.  
  
“I don’t want to fucking do this without you.”  
  
Harry knew better than to argue a statement like that, one that Louis rarely made, so he slipped his hand from Louis’s arm with a nod and just waited as Louis’s hand hovered on the doorknob.  
  
When Louis still hadn’t opened the door after another few moments, tension creeping back into his shoulders, Harry leaned in, tips of his fingers on Louis’s waist to hold them both in place, and said into Louis’s ear, “...Do you need me to carry you or something?”  
  
Louis’ shoulders dropped so fast and he twisted enough to glare at Harry over his shoulder.  
  
“Harold.”  
  
Harry pulled his head back but not his hands, schooling his features into perfect innocence, though he didn’t quite manage to lose the smile. Idly drumming his fingers against Louis’s hipbones, he waited two more beats for Louis to open the door. When he still hadn’t, Harry tightened his fingers like the threat of a tickle.  
  
“So, hypothetically speaking, if you’re going to faint ** _—_** ”  
  
“I _will_ murder you in your sleep,” Louis declared, turning even more to face Harry. The moment he turned Harry pasted the biggest grin on his face, rocking back on his heels and pushing his hands behind his back like an innocent-not-at-all schoolboy.  
  
“I _could_ believe that,” he mused, shrugging, “if I weren’t the only one here that can actually wake up right now.” He poked Louis in the arm, right over his heart tattoo, watching his finger like he was poking a sleeping dragon to see what it would do. “Bit of an empty threat, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
Louis’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Twat.”  
  
He jerked open the door before Harry could respond, but Harry took the point anyway.  
  
Louis pulled away from Harry’s hands and stepped over the threshold only to halt just inside the doorway.  
  
The hallway behind them was so white, bright, and quiet, compared to the dim, colourful, and loud club on the other side. The change barelled into Harry’s senses and he wasn’t even in the club yet. He pressed himself up against Louis, hands against his lower back this time to nudge him all the way inside.  
  
The door closed behind them and Harry twisted to find himself staring at a black wall.  
  
He turned back round.  
  
The club looked much the same as it did Friday night, much the same as it did last night when he and Zayn had returned. The flashing lights, the blacklights, the crowds of people... the only difference was where they were stood. Instead of near any of the actual doors to the club, they were across the dance floor from Zayn’s booth. Harry was pretty sure they were stood where another booth or at least a high-top table should have been, lining the wall between the toilets that were now to their left a ways and the bar, which was to their right.  
  
They weren’t exactly in the middle, but far closer to the bar, only about a yard away from the corner where he and Zayn had talked to Cassie.  
  
The deep base of the music was so much louder and so much softer at the same time. It wasn’t so much a noise anymore but a physical memory, pulsing through the wall and throbbing inside his chest more than his ears as though Louis weren’t even in front of him to block the sound coming from the speakers somewhere to their left.  
  
He let go of Louis and started to dip to the side to find a spot to make himself comfortable next to him, either against the wall or maybe he could actually sit down, maybe just dance a little to the beat.  
  
But Louis came with him, bumping Harry back into the wall and trapping him there when he pressed back against Harry’s chest and snaked his arms behind him around Harry’s waist to keep him in place in a silent _where do you think you’re going?_.  
  
But Harry could also feel the tension in Louis’s muscles everywhere they were touching. So he curved his hands over the caps of Louis’ shoulders and dropped his chin down onto one to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
“Just let go, Lou.” For how loud the music was, it did nothing to drown out his voice, even if he didn’t raise it at all. “Let it happen.” He squeezed his shoulders when Louis didn’t respond and made sure Louis could hear the tease in his voice with his next words. “I promise you won’t faint.”  
  
And just like the first time Harry had said that magic word, it activated Louis’s need to challenge.  
  
Louis turned his head and shot Harry an unimpressed look over his shoulder, lips pursed.  
  
“Harold.”  
  
But Harry just grinned again and shrugged.  
  
So Louis rolled his eyes and looked back into the scene before them.  
  
He picked his chin up only to plop it back down much closer to Louis’s ear, tilting just enough to say quietly into it, “Whatever reason you had, it’s a good one. Ok?”  
  
Louis nodded, tipped sideways to bump his temple against Harry’s. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.  
  
Harry couldn’t see his eyes, but he felt Louis go limp, his arms falling from their grip around his hips.  
  
And this time, when Louis swayed, it didn’t feel like he was about to fall, but Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’s waist and held him in place all the same. He held Louis while he remembered, prepared to stand there and wait for as long as it took, idly scanning the scene from his spot resting on Louis’ shoulder without fully taking it in because he was more focused on the solid comfort of holding Louis.  
  
He distracted himself.  
  
No. Literally. _He_ distracted himself.  
  
Well, technically Louis distracted him, because Louis always distracted him, but Louis’s back was to him and all he could see was...himself.  
  
That was him, Harry fucking Styles, standing on the dance floor with his hands gripping Louis’s hips.  
  
Harry blinked. Nope. They were still there.  
  
Harry blinked again and shook his head quickly to clear his vision. Shoving his face sideways into Louis’s hair he squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, peeked back out again around the brown strands.  
  
No, they were both still here and both still there. Still here with his arms around Louis and Louis’s back pressed to his chest; still there with his hands holding Louis and Louis’s chest pressed to his own.  
  
This was definitely an acid trip. It had to be. Is this how Louis felt seeing himself through Harry’s eyes all weekend?  
  
At least he’d been sleeping though. At least that could be mistaken for a still life with fucking fruit or a photograph or something.  
  
But if Louis watching himself sleeping was like Jack’s drawing of one of his French girls in Titanic, this was definitely the part where the ship had cracked in half and was going down.  
  
Was this... Was this what an out of body experience felt like?  
  
Actually he was pretty sure this is what it felt like right before you fainted.  
  
He was going to need to put a therapist on speed dial.  
  
Harry squeezed Louis closer as he stared at the two of them out there on the dance floor.  
  
Their foreheads were touching and he could tell his eyes were closed like he was struggling. He almost blended in to the dark of the club with his black tee and jeans. Louis looked even now like a fucking solar flare in that white shirt, lit up so brightly under the lights that Harry swore he only saw himself at all because of how bright Louis was.  
  
Louis pulled back enough to look at him, hand curving up around Harry's jaw even while their cheeks were pressed together. He tilted Harry’s head back and to the side, just enough to say something into Harry’s ear, other hand still covering one of Harry’s on his hip.  
  
The sway of just their hips while they talked compared to everyone else dancing with their whole bodies to the beat, seemed so subtle in comparison. They were just talking and that’s why they were dancing like that, just dancing, but-  
  
They looked like lovers.  
  
Fuck.  
  
It was the first word that came to mind and he couldn’t deny it.  
  
Fuck.  
  
And even with a dance floor between them and where he stood with Louis now, Harry heard that Louis’s voice clearly, as though he were just as close then as he was now.  
  
Closer even, like Harry was the one actually saying the words coming out of Louis’s mouth.  
  
“Course. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yea?”  
  
Wait. This was part of what Louis needed to remember? Harry cast his mind back to when Louis had told him the last thing he’d remembered.  
  
Harry telling him that he and Liam were leaving.  
  
Harry hadn’t taken that literally enough. Louis had turned around to face him after he’d said those words. What Louis had just said had been his response.  
  
Harry was so certain that he’d managed to keep his hands in place that night, so proud of himself for not moving them from Louis’s hips when Louis had turned to him. He'd been so afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep them from sliding down to his arse to pull those fucking perfect hips closer to him if he did ** _—_**  
  
He watched his hand slide from Louis’s hip to cradle into the small of his back like Louis was something so fucking precious because he fucking was so precious. Even though his hand didn’t stray further down, he _did_ pull Louis even closer.  
  
Louis’s back arched slightly around his hand what with their hips so connected but their shoulders pulled back enough to look at each other. And from here it looked as though pulling Louis in was another one of their challenges, like he was challenging what Louis had just said, challenging Louis to come closer.  
  
He'd thought so hard about not doing it that it had happened anyway because it was all he could think about.  
  
Louis went with it, _let_ Harry move him. The muscles in Louis’s back and bum flexed as he thrust his hips forward into Harry’s in response and Harry almost closed his eyes again at seeing that hip thrust from behind, just as he’d almost closed his eyes from feeling it from the front that night.  
  
He tightened his hold on Louis now as out there he pulled back and the space between them became suddenly so obvious. Heard his own voice just as clearly, not like he was saying the words, but like he was hearing them spoken to him.  
  
“Won’t cook or clean. I swear.”  
  
Louis patted his cheek twice then pressed a hand into his chest, slowly pushing him further away. He still hadn't turned around, but Harry remembered the bright smirk on Louis’s face from that night, eyes dancing in the light.  
  
“Good lad. Go on then.”  
  
And _fuck_ he’d done such a terrible fucking job of fixing his own face. Pulled back enough from Louis, Harry could really see his own face now. Lit up in the bright beam of Louis’s flare, he looked so fucking in love and so fucking desperate to not leave like Louis was pushing him away and not the other way round and how could _anyone_ not see it? Surely he wasn’t the only one who thought it was that obvious. So obvious that now he was covering Louis’s hand on his chest like a final plea for Louis to not make him leave.  
  
He’d been a right idiot. He’d known not to go out on that dance floor with that much alcohol in his blood and he’d done it anyway and fuck.  
  
He turned away from Louis like his own light had just been snuffed out and walked out of the light reflecting off of Louis. He blended back into the darker lighting of the club and wove his way off the dance floor like some sort of...some sort of...uncoordinated oaf.  
  
Wow. Louis really wasn’t wrong about that description.  
  
Or maybe that’s just how he felt about it all right now.  
  
Closing his eyes, Harry shoved his face sideways into Louis’s hair and took two deep breaths to calm his racing heart, like he could fix how it all looked to him out there by gripping onto Louis so tightly here. Maybe he could hide behind Louis and shield himself from his own stupidity.  
  
He worried his wee creature was thumping so wildly against the bars of its cage and knocking so desperately against Louis’s back to get his attention that Louis might come back from remembering just from Harry's heartbeat.  
  
But Louis didn’t move in his arms and Harry didn’t move except to slowly turn his head back out again once he’d shoved everything back down. He couldn’t focus on any of these feelings. Not now, not yet, not while Louis was remembering and he was still not safe, not until he was back in his body.  
  
Once Louis was safe he’d let the emotional mess in. But not now.  
  
He opened his eyes once it was all quiet in his chest again.  
  
He was still here and still there, standing here with his arms around Louis and also walking away from the dance floor there towards Zayn’s round table where Liam sat contently half-slumped over on his way to becoming a One Direction wax figure still life.  
  
Harry would call it: “The Payne of Living, With Alcohol, A Study.”  
  
How very fitting for his own life after that abysmal performance.  
  
It’d probably sell for millions.  
  
Billions if Zayn were the one to paint it.  
  
This was mental. He was mental.  
  
What was it Louis had said? _Yea, not believable at all. Might want to try actually acting next time, pumpkin._ _  
_  
He tightened his grip on Louis to remind himself that he, Harry, was still _here_ and followed the path he, Harry, was taking _there_ off the dance floor.  
  
Back to the point where it all began, the centre of it all, the centre of his fucking orbit, the magnetic sun so blinding and bright and so fucking easy to spot in the middle of all the dancers just as he had been that night.  
  
 _That_ Louis’s back was still to them. He was stood completely still in the middle of a throbbing mass of people, watching _that_ Harry as he clapped Liam on the shoulder and helped him out of the booth.  
  
The two of them made their way towards the exit where Paul waited for them, arms-over-shoulders and faces close.  
  
Now that he thought about it, Harry wondered if it was because this was Louis’s memory-  
  
Fuck, this _was_ Louis’s memory.  
  
Well at least the acid trip made some sense now.  
  
In the way acid trips make sense, of course.  
  
Not that he’d ever been on an acid trip.  
  
So actually, he didn’t know if this made more or less sense than an acid trip.  
  
He was getting sidetracked.  
  
Did acid trips do that?  
  
Sidetracked again.  
  
But he wondered if because this was Louis’s memory, if that was why he could see Louis so clearly, even though from this angle he should have been blocked by all the other dancers. He couldn’t begin to understand, could only let his gaze travel down the perfect plane of Louis’s back, lit up under the black lights in his white shirt, remembering so easily how it felt dancing against him even now.  
  
Because he was there right now, Louis pressed securely against his chest right here.  
  
Harry had been running from this moment at the club all weekend, only to come full circle right back to where he’d started.  
  
Squeezing Louis a little closer at the thought, he closed his eyes against the familiar tightening in his chest trying to well right back up again, the pain he wasn’t ready to deal with, only to snap them back open because the other Harry just left the club with Paul and Liam.  
  
On the dance floor Louis finally turned back around.  
  
He was still so painfully beautiful, as fucking gorgeous as Harry’s memory of the night remembered.  
  
But Harry couldn’t understand the mess of emotions scattering across his face, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He looked confused, angry, upset, something so completely transformed from the bright grin Harry remembered seeing last that night. Harry didn’t have a chance to try and work it out, because Louis pressed his lips together and pushed forwards to catch Zayn’s shoulder, yelling into his ear to be heard even if Zayn was mid-dance.  
  
“Haz is leaving with Payno. I’m done dancing. Gonna have a wee and fetch us another fucking round. Meet you at your table, yea?”  
  
Despite the distance between them and the pounding music, Harry still heard him clearly, still like they were his own words he was speaking.  
  
Louis clapped Zayn’s shoulder one more time, didn’t wait for an answer. He made his way through the dancers to get off the dance floor, this time in the opposite direction that the other Harry had taken, towards where he was stood right now with Louis - this Louis? real Louis? future Louis? cursed Louis? fuck - in his arms. That Louis was facing them now so his back was turned and he didn’t see the look that Niall and Zayn shared as they watched him leave and it must only be the obvious magic at work here that allowed Harry to see it now.  
  
This was so fucking mental.  
  
He might need multiple therapists on speed dial actually, one for every time zone of their tour.  
  
Just so he could stare at his phone and not actually make the call, of course, because none of this whole weekend was ever being discussed outside the five of them.  
  
Once Louis got off the dance floor he paused, looked right towards the toilets then left towards the bar. Grabbing his phone out, he swiped then tapped, fingers hovering over the keys like he was about to type something. But then he clicked it off and shoved it back in his pocket and started towards the bar. He stepped into the closest open space at the bar, right where Harry had been sat when he and Zayn returned to the bar for answers. Almost right next to where Harry was stood right now with this Louis.  
  
That Louis didn’t sit though, just leaned over the back, propping one foot on the bottom bar of that same chair Harry had been in, but standing exactly the way Zayn had stayed standing too.  
  
While he waited for one of the bartenders to get to him, he pulled out his phone again, leaning both elbows on the bar as he swiped and tapped, fingers once again hovering over the keyboard. He frowned, typed something, deleted it, repeated the action again only to roll his eyes and drop his phone to the bar. A few moments later he picked it back up again, stared down at the screen.  
  
One of the bartenders made it to him and he ordered three beers, dropping his phone again and pulling out some notes to pay while the bartender went to fill his order. The less their names got out the better; paying with cash for each round was a trick Paul had taught them. When the bartender returned with the drinks he held out sixty quid.  
  
“Actually, three Absolut Redbulls too. Cheers.”  
  
The man nodded, taking the bills and disappearing to make the shots, coming back a few minutes later with the drinks and the change.  
  
Louis shook his head at the change. After the bartender pocketed the money with a nod of thanks and walked away, he clicked his phone off without typing anything and shoved it back into his pocket, reached for the first shot, well, double-shot really, and threw it back, the second one following right after.  
  
It looked vaguely familiar to Harry, reminded him of the shots he’d thrown back one after another in the first dream at Liam’s.  
  
Louis smacked the second empty glass on the bar and reached for the third one.  
  
“Huh. You’re the last person I would have pegged to ask for the triple-shot “I’ve got something to say” order.”  
  
Louis snorted and rolled his eyes, a look Harry recognized so easily as one of his, _here we fucking go_ looks.  
  
“Sorry, must be the barkeep in me.” She chuckled, shifting forwards to lean her elbows on the bar. “Guess I’m too used to talking to strangers at the bar, I forget when I’m off shift.”  
  
Louis paused, hand on the third shot. He turned his head enough to his right to glance at the woman sitting next to him in the furthest seat against the wall. It was the seat Zayn had leaned against when he and Harry had been there.  
  
Harry didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed someone sitting there before, maybe because Louis seemed to be noticing her for the first time right now too and it was his memory after all.  
  
Louis’s quick eyes, brighter and glossier with the drinks already in his system even before the shots he just had, took her in, her pink-gold hair pulled up in a high ponytail, swirling tattoos and the bright stone she wore right against her sternum.  
  
“You've got to be fucking...” Harry breathed. He could so easily see the moment Louis changed his mind about ignoring her and instead chose to indulge, shooting her one of his winning smiles and angling his body just a little bit more towards her.  
  
He tightened his hold on Louis now, half out of instinct, half out of shock, and half to remind himself that Louis was actually here with him and no longer, well...there.  
  
He wasn’t quite prepared to look left at Louis though. Of everything that had happened this weekend, he hadn’t yet had to deal with seeing two Louis Tomlinsons in the same place wearing almost the exact same thing like some twisted Yorkshire version of The Shining where the twins at the end of the hallway were male and even more dangerously devious, but also impossible to resist because they were incredibly fucking brilliant, ridiculously fit, and unbelievably talented. Harry was not ready to go there. He definitely preferred rom-coms.  
  
He’d forgotten how to do proper maths there too.  
  
“Not this time, love,” Louis said, breaking Harry from his ** _—_** surprise, surprise ** _—_** Louis-filled thoughts. “If anyone has something to say, it’s not me.”  
  
“Really?” She sat back in her chair, genuinely surprised, swirling the straw in her drink so the ice clinked against the glass, studying him. “Not what it just looked like.” She nodded towards her phone. “Besides, in my experience people don’t get tattoos because they have nothing to say.”  
  
A pointed glance down at her arm drew Louis’s attention to her tattoos. She then gave the same pointed look to the bird so easily visible on the arm he had still resting on the bar.  
  
Louis was intrigued. Fingers still curved around the third vodka Redbull he hadn't drunk, He followed her gaze to his tattoo before he let go of the shot, laced his hands together. Still leaning on the bar over the back of the chair, he turned more towards her, eyebrow arched, and shrugged.  
  
“It’s just a bird.”  
  
“M hm.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes twinkling, as though she could so easily see the challenge in Louis’s eyes that Harry was so used to seeing directed at him. “I’m sure it is. Just an ordinary bird, a random image that you didn’t feel connected to at all but decided to permanently brand on your body somewhere that anyone who looks at you would see it.”  
  
“So what’s it mean then?”  
  
She laughed. It was a beautiful laugh.  
  
“How should I know? It’s your bird.”  
  
“Well what’s the point of a fucking message if no one understands it?”  
  
“It’s not about other people understanding though is it?” She took another sip of her drink, eyeing Louis over the rim. “It’s about making sure people know that you’ve got something to say.” She set her glass down and shrugged. “Something to say so forcefully, so powerfully, that you’re willing to permanently brand it on you so no one could possibly forget it.”  
  
“Fat fucking lot of good it does me,” Louis muttered.  
  
He reached for one of the three beers ** _—_** definitely not the slightly darker one that must be the Guinness for Niall ** _—_** and took a large sip, setting it down and using the base to swirl some spilled alcohol on the bar. He let it go to pick up one of the empty coasters on the bar instead and fiddled with it, giving his fingers something to do that didn’t include the risk of spilling precious liquid.  
  
“Everyone’s fucking decided everything about me anyway.”  
  
“Yea?” She sat forward and motioned to the shot glasses in front of him, two empty, one full. “That why you’ve decided to scream your thoughts into a trio of shots instead?”  
  
Louis snorted out a laugh and finally picked up the third one.  
  
“Sure. Why not. That’s exactly it. It is what it is.” He tipped it in a toast to her then tossed it back too.  
  
She was studying him silently again, almost curiously, like she was waiting for something. It didn’t make much sense to Harry and Louis didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“I think there’s two types of people in this world,” she said while Louis’s head was thrown back finishing the shot.  
  
Louis knocked the empty glass back on the bar next to the other two and started flipping the coaster between his fingers again, staring at the wall of top-shelf liquors behind the bar but still angled towards her to show he was listening.  
  
The red backlighting highlighted Louis's face, reminded Harry of how the emergency sign lighting of the stage in his nightmare had lit Louis’s features and made him look slightly otherworldly.  
  
“There are the people who have so much to say and no one listening to them. It’s like you’re screaming into a void and no matter how loud you scream, no one hears, nothing comes back at you.”  
  
Louis tensed, jaw clenching.  
  
She shrugged, pointed at herself as though to say that’s where she stood.  
  
That had Louis frowning and turning towards her almost instinctively, hand stilling around the coaster.  
  
That didn’t surprise Harry. The slightest hint of pain, even in strangers, always sent Louis into protective mode and brought the big-brother in him out.  
  
“For someone like you? I can’t believe that’s true.”  
  
The smile she gave Louis reminded Harry of the smile Louis sometimes gave when he’d fully expected the answer he’d just been given, like he’d heard it too many times before to be surprised anymore, but still found something amusing in it anyway.  
  
“I’m used to people not believing what I say.”  
  
Louis snorted quietly again, shoulders relaxing slightly with the added alcohol in his system. And probably because he recognized something familiar in her tone, it sounded somehow familiar to Harry.  
  
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, his version of apologizing, starting to twirl the coaster between his fingers again.  
  
She smiled and tapped a finger against his forearm, the one resting on the bar between them again, right over his bird.  
  
“But I’m not resigned to it. I’ve accepted it.” She winked. “There’s a difference between resignation and acceptance.”  
  
Louis’s brows furrowed.  
  
Harry recognized that look too, though usually it wasn’t quite so serious. It was the look he’d seen earlier that same night when he’d intrigued Louis, caught his attention with something he’d said. What she said intrigued Harry too, but he logged it away to think about later, because Louis was speaking again.  
  
“So what’s your other type of people then?”  
  
“Those who have so many people listening even when they think they have nothing to say.” She nodded at him. “From what I saw of you with your mates, you’re one of those.”  
  
“What, been watching me?”  
  
She chuckled at the suspicion colouring Louis’s face and shook her head.  
  
“I’m a barkeep. I people watch; part of the job description and all. Some people just stick out more than others.” She nodded at him. “Like you.”  
  
She laughed again when Louis just arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Yea, that came out probably a bit creepy-stalky huh? My girl tells me I should tone that down a bit.” She held up her left hand to show off the diamond ring on her finger. “Sorry about that.”  
  
Louis waved his hand, coaster stuck between his index and middle finger now, as though to dismiss her worry. Harry had a feeling part of it was because it seemed like she had no idea who Louis was.  
  
“It’s fine. Reckon I’m a bit used to that too,” he admitted, that same sort of dark tint in his words.  
  
She was back to studying him again, but then she held out her right hand, watching him like she was watching to see what he would do.  
  
“Name’s Cassie, by the way.”  
  
Louis paused a moment, staring at her hand before deciding to answer, just as Harry and Zayn had done.  
  
“Louis.” He plucked the coaster from between his fingers to shake her hand.  
  
“Ow. Fuck,” he hissed, staring down at his palm instead, at the thin slice the thick paper coaster had somehow made in the second knuckle of his middle finger.  
  
Cassie winced and handed him a paper napkin. Louis pressed it to his finger, shaking his head.  
  
“How the fuck... A fucking paper cut from a fucking coaster. What the fuck.”  
  
“I hear you. That does take talent,” she agreed, incredibly surprised. For a fleeting instant, Harry had the feeling that her surprise was like she hadn’t expected this to happen but thought it might. And that. What?  
  
Louis pulled the napkin away to see if it’d stopped bleeding. More blood welled up from the cut.  
  
“Here, try this.” Cassie held out her hand for the napkin and when Louis handed it to her, she slipped her finger into the slot Louis had made in it with his own finger and dipped it into one of the two shot glasses sitting in front of her, apparently not caring that the spot she dipped had Louis’s blood on it.  
  
Harry recognized the frosted glass as the same one Louis had thrown in the dream at Liam’s, the same one by his side when Harry found him on the walkway. A bright flash shot through the liquid the moment the napkin touched.  
  
Cassie paused then handed it back to Louis, who was staring in confusion at the glass until she pulled his attention away by urging him to take the napkin.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
Louis hesitated, then pressed the wet spot of the napkin, even darker with the spot of blood on it too, back to his finger. Whatever he felt he wasn’t expecting, because surprise flit across his face. He pulled the napkin back and stared down at his hand. The cut wasn’t bleeding, seemed to even be a little healed, like it’d happened two days ago rather than just now.  
  
Now Louis definitely looked surprised. Harry had to admit the open surprise on his face wasn’t something even he got to see very often). Cassie grinned, delighted, almost giddy, and took another sip of her drink.  
  
“Not that often I get to help someone like that, even with something so small,” she admitted. The utter joy on her face was almost infectious.  
  
“What ** _—_** " Louis started, staring between his finger and the shot glass until she pressed a finger against her lips, looking around to make sure no one else had seen.  
  
“I know it’s dangerous for both of us for you to know, but please don’t give me away. You don’t seem the type to rat out someone’s identity.”  
  
Louis was still staring between her and the shot glass and Harry had no doubt that the alcohol in his system combined with such an almost impossible event was probably doing Louis’s mind in. Louis may as well be the exploding head on his own shirt, because that was the look on his face right now.  
  
It made Harry turn his head enough to press a kiss to this Louis’s cheek and slip one arm from around his waist to loop over his chest and squish him in an automatic hug. A short-circuiting mind was never easy. He knew that quite well even if it didn’t happen often to Louis.  
  
That Louis finally nodded. She was back to studying him again, almost as though she was trying to figure out not what to say next, but how to say it.  
  
“Tell you what.” She leaned in closer and pushed one of the two shot glasses in front of her towards him, the same one she’d dipped the napkin into. The one that Louis and Harry both swore they saw light up like a spark, or a flare, or a lightning strike. “I know there’s something you want.”  
  
Louis laughed incredulously at that. He was probably still repairing his brain. Alcohol always made brain repairs take more time.  
  
Harry also knew that quite well.  
  
“I have no idea what I fucking want.”  
  
“Well. This’ll give it to you.” She tapped her finger against the side of the glass.  
  
Louis looked down at the shot glass filled with clear liquid.  
  
“Liquor?” Louis motioned to the three empty shot glasses in front of him. “Yea, figured that part out already.”  
  
Cassie didn’t seem put off by the dark humour that had once again leaked into his tone, because she was grinning again. In a way, it reminded Harry of the grin Louis would make after a prank-well-done.  
  
“Trust me, mine’s better. Most drinks don’t answer when you scream into them. Mine’ll scream back.”  
  
“Last thing I need is another fucking voice screaming at me, love.” Louis held his palm up to decline her offer. “But cheers anyway.”  
  
Louis loved their fans and would do just about anything for them, so his phrasing, even if he was just mirroring Cassie’s, took Harry a bit by surprise. Or maybe it wasn’t the words themselves, but that they sounded almost like a dark confession.  
  
“You sure? Maybe you just haven’t found the right voice to scream at you.” Cassie lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, but she did sit back again, obviously not about to push. “Well, the offer’s there if you want it. It’s your choice.”  
  
“Mm. Don’t fucking have many of those anymore.” Louis grinned against the rim of his pint before taking another swig, tone far darker than the liquid in his glass.  
  
“We always have a fucking choice, we just don’t always realize we’ve been making it.” She grinned too, matched his tone with a lot less darkness. Then she shrugged, sipping at her drink again. She left the offered shot halfway between them. “It’s just a drink.” She paused, set her glass down. “But I won’t lie, if you want it, it will change your life.”  
  
Louis laughed at that too, shaking his head.  
  
“Already had that happen once.”  
  
“What? Something change your life?”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“And how’d that go?”  
  
Louis was back to swirling his pint through the liquid on the bar, probably because coasters had proven to be more dangerous than the risk of spilling beer.  
  
“Best bloody thing to ever happen to me,” he admitted, staring at the circles he was making.  
  
“So what makes you think this won’t be too?”  
  
That had Louis pausing and Cassie’s face lit up the moment he looked back up; she looked so happy for him and Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand it.  
  
“I really won’t lie,” she said, like something in his eyes made her think he was actually considering drinking it now. She was watching him closely even as she tapped at the frosted shot glass halfway between them with a nail, “it’ll blow your mind. Blow your mind right out of your body.”  
  
Louis looked a cross between mildly impressed and not impressed at all. That he could pull off a look like that was...well...impressive.  
  
“That good, eh?”  
  
She smirked.  
  
“Like I said, I’m used to people not believing what I say.”  
  
Louis’s phone must’ve vibrated, because instead of answering her he pulled it out and scanned something on the lock screen.  
  
Harry thought he saw his own name on the screen.  
  
Louis pressed his lips together and dumped his phone on the bar without bothering to respond, eyeing the drink a little more intently now. Or maybe he had been and that’s what Cassie had seen.  
  
“It’ll give you the hangover of the fucking century though, could last for days if you let it,” she added, a slow grin winding its way onto her face. She nodded at the three empty shot glasses in front of Louis. “But something tells me that’s what you’re going for anyway.”  
  
Louis laughed again, still dark but a little more relaxed, like the shots were beginning to take effect, like he’d just made up his mind about something.  
  
“What can I say. Could do with a chance to forget and just fucking not feel anything for a bit.”  
  
“Well, we can never feel nothing now can we? But if that’s really what you want, then don’t feel. Forget. Here.”  
  
She reached over to a pile of fabric that looked like it was an article of clothing that was bundled up on the bar, right where it met the wall to her right. She plucked out a pad of paper and a pen, quickly jotting something down on it.  
  
“Secret recipe. I swear this is the best fucking cure. Just mix this up then sleep it off and you’ll be feeling everything again in no time.”  
  
She drew two sharp lines in two separate places on the paper, ripped the sheet off, then folded it in half and held it out to him, between her index and middle finger.  
  
Louis took the paper from her, ran the pad of his thumb over one folded corner for a few moments as he stared at it before tucking it into the right front pocket of his jeans. He picked up his phone and unlocked it long enough to finally type a single word into a chat, lips pressed into a thin line as he did so. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he reached for the glass and tipped it towards her.  
  
“Cheers to you too.”  
  
She lifted her other shot, toasting to him with a smile before downing it.  
  
Louis eyed the glass in his hand.  
  
He threw back the shot.


	19. Chapter 19

Louis was close. He was so close.  
  
He lay on his back, head turned to the right on his pillow, eyes closed, face pale, lips a mottled blue. His hair was no longer spiked up, wild and sweaty and mussed, but mostly hidden beneath a grey beanie except for the tangled sweep of fringe over his right eye, the strands long enough to tickle his cheek.  
  
The change was jarring.  
  
Louis hadn’t moved.  
  
Harry hadn’t moved either.  
  
He was still lying on his left side, curled up just the way he’d fallen asleep at whatever time it was. Louis was still only a few inches away, as close as Harry could be to him without catching the obvious chill emanating from Louis’s body.  
  
He was awake.  
  
And Louis had remembered.  
  
He held his breath, watching Louis’s face. He’d never woken up before without something changing and now he prayed that because he’d remembered, he’d wake up.  
  
Nothing happened. Nothing at all.  
  
_”Lou?”_  
  
Nothing.  
  
Untangling his hand from the duvet, Harry tentatively pressed it to Louis’s cheek, stroked his thumb over one high cheekbone. The cold was still a shock to his system, but Louis didn’t react.  
  
He didn’t look any better, but...if he could get worse, he also wasn’t getting worse.  
  
“Lou?” he tried again. Someone shifted in the chair next to the bed just outside of Harry’s vision.  
  
“Hey.” Zayn leaned over into Harry's view, studying them both. “What happened?” He said it carefully. Just because it was routine to ask now didn’t mean they would like the answers. His gaze slid over Louis’s features, taking him in much the same way Harry had. “Did he remember?”  
  
Harry nodded, starting to ease upright.  
  
“But there’s no change.” Confusion coloured Zayn's words. “I thought remembering was how he would wake up?”  
  
Harry nodded again then shook his head. The disorientation of waking up to such a different Louis finally dissipated only to be replaced with the dawning realization of everything that had happened in the last dream, everything he’d just seen in Louis’s memory, everything from before Louis had remembered, their real-fight, their play-fight, how close he’d been on the stage, how-  
  
“Harry? You alright?”  
  
He really needed Louis to do something right now: come back here or come back in his mind. He didn’t think he could handle a repeat of last night. His little creature just couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything that had happened.  
  
But if Louis wasn’t waking up, Harry prayed he wasn't far behind coming back to Harry's mind but he didn’t want Louis hearing any of his internal turmoil. That wasn’t fair to either of them. Harry had done enough, he’d given enough. He needed to lock that shit down, nail down the coffin on his mind now with his three nails before Louis got back.  
  
Once Louis was safely back in his body he'd let the emotions in.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“No,” he admitted, voice even deeper because he'd just woken up. “But I don’t...I can’t-...not now.“  
  
He decided then that he wasn’t going to look at Louis for as long as he possibly could. Louis didn’t need to see this anymore than Harry wanted to see it. He had enough on his plate right now.  
  
Zayn’s brows furrowed, but he seemed to understand, because he nodded, though he didn’t get a chance to speak.  
  
“Is he back?”  
  
Harry looked up when Niall’s voice came from the doorway. He had one hand in a full-sized bag of Doritos and...well honestly Harry wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it, because he was pretty sure he and Louis had finished the last of their stash earlier this week.  
  
Niall pulled his hand from the bag, waved around his head, and came to perch by Louis’s legs near Zayn, watching Harry.  
  
“Back up there yet, I mean?”  
  
He shook his head yet again, hunched over himself and scrubbed his hands over his face, over and over and over.  
  
He needed to do what he knew how to do best: be with Louis. He couldn’t _be with_ Louis, but he knew how to be with Louis and cherished every moment he got.  
  
Focus, Harry, focus. He looked up at Zayn and Niall and-  
  
“Where’s Liam?” he asked immediately, trying not to start panicking but finding himself wanting to panic because they weren’t all there. Just because he’d had enough sleep to last _him_ all tour now didn’t mean his mind wasn’t still reeling from everything that had happened, everything he’d seen. Right now he did _not_ want any of them to be missing. One was enough. No, one was way too fucking much.  
  
Niall nodded towards the doorway, chewed, then swallowed.  
  
“Just got on the phone with management.”  
  
Shit.  
  
“What time is it?” Harry sat up further and looked for his phone, found it out of reach on the other bedside table.  
  
“Just past 11,” Zayn said without looking at the time, as though he’d just checked moments ago.  
  
“The photoshoot. Fuck, how are we-"  
  
“It’s sorted, Haz, don’t worry,” Niall cut in. “You and Tommo are pretty hard laid up with a bad dose right now but we’re not sure if it was a virus or Tommo’s cooking.” He winked at that. “And since we’ve been bumming around with you lads all weekend to celebrate the start of tour, best make sure it’s not contagious and all rest up for the Brits tomorrow. And if management’ll believe anyone, it’s Payno.”  
  
That was...an impressive lie. Just enough of a grain of truth that technically Liam wasn’t even lying. It was the type of lie Harry could pull off, the type of lie that was almost impossible to even be suspicious of.  
  
“Who came up with that?”  
  
Niall grinned and jerked his head towards Zayn, who just gave some sort of non-committal shrug.  
  
“Christ, what would we do without you lot,” Harry muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face yet again, so he only heard Niall's laugh.  
  
“Not be part of a bloody successful band, for one.”  
  
Yea, yea. Point taken. Or would that be point given?  
  
No. Only he and Louis got points. Harry wasn’t ready to share those. He worked hard for them.  
  
“So what happened?” Niall asked when Harry only grunted in response to him. “You said he remembered, yea? Did he tell you what he remembered?”  
  
Harry sort of shook his head and didn’t grunt this time, though he really wanted to.  
  
“I saw it.”  
  
Niall and Zayn both looked surprised and impressed by that.  
  
“Like a film?” Of all questions, that’s what Niall chose.  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
“We made it back to the club. It ... played out in front of me.”  
  
“So...like a 3D film?”  
  
Harry laughed breathlessly.  
  
“Like an out-of-body acid trip, mate.”  
  
That memory was a complete acid trip with too many questions that he hadn’t even begun to sort through on top of everything else he’d found out about Louis. His heart was currently avoiding it all by brandishing a ten-metre cattleprod at the emotions hovering just outside the confines of his ribs.  
  
Niall laughed far less breathlessly than Harry did, leaning over Louis to smack at Harry’s duvet-covered leg with cheesy fingers.  
  
“So a normal fucking day for you.”  
  
“With you around? Definitely.”  
  
Niall, once again, wasn’t fazed. He plucked out a crisp and chomped it in half obnoxiously, eyeing Harry.  
  
“Can’t wait to hear what the fuck happened.”  
  
“What do we do until then?” Zayn nodded over to Louis and then Harry. “He still not back yet?”  
  
Harry shook his head, starting to look to his left at Louis and stopping himself. No. No. Not helpful. How long had it been since he’d woken up? After what happened last time he was far less confident that Louis would be there and each minute that passed only increased the worry stirring low in his stomach. Louis wasn’t waking up and nothing was changing and Louis still wasn’t back yet and if Harry had to go through not having Louis in his head or in his body again with no idea where he fucking was and no way to find him Harry was going to implode.  
  
“Well did you at least see what Tommo needs to do to break it?” Niall pulled back from Harry so he could dunk his hand back in the bag. “Maybe we can do something before he gets back to you?” They all heard the ‘if’ in there but none of them pointed it out.  
  
“The paper.” Harry shot upright, eyes wide. “The fucking paper!”  
  
He threw the blankets off and clambered out of bed, even less sure on his feet first thing in the morning. Probably like an uncoordinated oaf. He darted towards Louis’s walk-in.  
  
“Cassie gave it to him. Said it was a secret-recipe and the best cure and he put it in his pocket and it’s gotta still be there. It has to be how to break this.”  
  
He flung the door open, dropped down to the floor then looped his arms around the absolutely massive heap of clothes that Zayn had shoved in during the first carrying-Louis fiasco. He started backing up like a discombobulated lorry with two flat tyres.  
  
“Help me find the jeans he was wearing.”  
  
“Cassie? As in ... _the_ Cassie?” Zayn asked, incredulous. As ridiculous as the phrase ‘the Cassie’ sounded, Harry only nodded. He’d had a little more time to process that than Zayn but right now was still not the time for it. Zayn swore under his breath.  
  
“Which ones? What colour were they?” Niall understood their priorities because he actually _released_ the bag of crisps. He and Zayn both dropped down next to the pile and began to pick it apart, flinging anything that weighed too little to be jeans or trousers aside without a second glance.  
  
Harry paused just long enough to look at them like they were loons.  
  
“Black. Didn’t you see his kit? You _were_ there too, you know.”  
  
Zayn rolled his eyes, even though a private smile played about his lips.  
  
“But _you’re_ the one to remember what he was wearing three days later, Haz.”  
  
“Why do you think we asked you? You _did_ also just wake up from seeing him again in your alien abduction mind probe,” Niall added, shooting Harry his own unimpressed look. He never seemed to quite get that look right though, always fighting a smile no matter how unimpressed he was. So Harry wasn’t sure he believed that he was _actually_ unimpressed.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes right back at the both of them, but he couldn’t exactly deny what either of them said. So he shoved his face into Louis's clothes instead. Well, not literally.  
  
“How many fucking pairs of black jeans does he own?” Niall muttered, throwing a second pair behind him after checking the pockets.  
  
_What the bloody fuck is it with you lot and my clothes? Do I need to take out a restraining order for me washing?_ _  
_  
Harry burst out laughing, more out of relief than from Louis’s words.  
  
“We’re looking for the paper, Lou,” he said out loud when Zayn and Niall had both paused to stare at him, a mix of curiousity and hope on their faces. They both visibly relaxed the moment Harry said Louis’s name. “The one she gave you that night.”  
  
Louis didn’t answer.  
  
“About time you got back, Tommo,” Zayn muttered, trying to say it lightly, but the relief wasn’t hard to miss, all things considered.  
  
“Always on his own schedule, that one.” Niall paused long enough to lean over and slap at Zayn’s arm and squeeze, like he’d heard the relief and understood.  
  
“Uh. Do I even want to know?” Liam asked curiously from the doorway, phone still held up.  
  
Niall looked up at the phone in Liam’s hand.  
  
“We good?”  
  
Liam nodded, slipped his phone into his pocket.  
  
“We’re good.”  
  
Niall turned back to the clothes, waved a hand behind at Liam.  
  
“Good. Help us find the black jeans Tommo was wearing Friday night. Apparently he’s had the curse breaker on a bloody piece of paper in his pocket this whole time.”  
  
Liam didn’t waste time, coming to sit next to Niall and grabbing at something dark, which turned out to be a t-shirt that he tossed behind him.  
  
“It’s always the last place we look in too,” he pointed out in a bit of a mutter.  
  
_Of course it’ll be the last place. Who keeps looking after they’ve found what they were fucking looking for?_ _  
_  
Zayn made a very strange face after Harry relayed that, but he got distracted by Liam’s answer before he could think to ask about it.  
  
“Says the one who forgot it was there in the first place?”  
  
_Wee bit preoccupied, mate, case you didn’t notice._ _  
_  
Zayn pulled out a folded piece of paper from the front right pocket of the pair of black jeans in his hand and instead of answering Louis or repeating his words, Harry shoved the clothes in front of him aside.  
  
“That’s it. That’s it!”  
  
Zayn handed it to Harry and he quickly unfolded it, scanning the beautiful, obviously-female handwriting only to feel like he hadn’t actually read anything at all. His mind stayed quite blank but for one word that came to mind, and that word was:  
  
What.  
  
_What the fuck._ _  
_  
“Well?” Niall pressed from across the pile, but Harry kept staring, the frown still on his face. Maybe if he looked at it again it would make more sense the second time. The paper wasn’t much of anything, plain white with an infinity symbol at the top, which made about as much sense as the words written there.  
  
Zayn plucked the paper back out of Harry’s hand, dark eyes scanning the words before he read them out.  
  
“Start with the best drink ever, nothing less will do. Add a prick of where you’re going and a prick of where you’ve been and you’ll be right as rain.” His eyes followed a line down and Harry knew it was because both times ‘prick’ was underlined twice with a squiggle leading down below to another sentence and a little winking face. “ ...Don’t want to ruin the taste.”  
  
“Seriously?” Niall and Liam both said at the exact same time, but where Niall sounded shocked, Liam was just exasperated. Liam then groaned, rubbing at his temples.  
  
“I didn’t realize when we met her that she shared your sense of humour, Tommo,” Zayn commented, still studying the paper.  
  
_My sense of humour?_ _  
_  
Zayn looked up from the paper when Harry relayed that message.  
  
“You’re right. I meant _your_ sense of humour,” he amended, motioning at Harry and Louis both. “Appropriately dirty at the most inappropriate times.”  
  
“Beg your fucking pardon.” Harry huffed before Louis could say anything. “Double your appropriate, please.”  
  
Zayn arched a brow at him, unimpressed, then said so slowly and so deeply that he was obviously attempting to mimic Harry if he were buffering or something, “You want to know who goes in front and who’s behind when we play Mario Kart.”  
  
Niall snickered and locked right in to Louis’s accent, the only one of them who could really do so, except he bumped it up an entire octave so he sounded something like a wee yippy dog, a Yorkie perhaps.  
  
“I think we kinda share that really.”  
  
“Oh come on!” Harry sputtered, eyes wide. “How was that not appropriate! It’s exactly what she asked!”  
  
“She wasn’t English. She was _asking_ you competitive idiots who is better at video games and you both knew that,” Liam pointed out.  
  
_Well you still ended up telling the whole bloody world that you work hard to get your fucking rocks off in under two minutes._ _  
_  
Harry was absolutely going to repeat that, complete with Louis’s tone. But not his accent.  
  
That Liam looked confused and then surprised sent all of them into fits of laughter. Niall actually folded forwards straight into the pile of Louis’s washing and was laughing too hard to care.  
  
“Jesus, Payno, did you never get that?” the pile of clothes asked in an Irish muffle.  
  
“Didn’t realize we’d need to tell you,” Harry added.  
  
Louis was laughing way too hard to say anything.  
  
“Look,” Zayn said, clearly coming to Liam’s aid, even if he had just been laughing fit to burst and had been laughing the first time so hard that he’d shoved his head in the astronaut helmet in his hands like some sort of exotic gopher. “Point still stands: appropriately dirty at the most inappropriate times.”  
  
As if that was all it would take to distract Harry and Louis from Liam’s-  
  
Harry huffed again. Zayn was still wrong.  
  
_He fucking is. Wanker._ _  
_  
Zayn was a wanker.  
  
_Come on, Haz! Just fucking tell him already._ _  
_  
Harry pressed his lips together over a smile and Louis’s groan echoed through his brain.  
  
“You know, I guess this is why no one ever said how to break the curse,” Zayn said, changing the subject. “It must not be the same every time with descriptions like these.”  
  
By arguing with Louis Harry had ended up saying nothing to Zayn, which sounded like they were _agreeing_ with him. Fuck.  
  
This was ridiculous.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” he sighed out as Zayn passed the paper over the half-decimated clothes pile to Liam, who scanned it with Niall reading over his shoulder.  
  
“This isn’t specific at all.” It was Niall's turn to huff. He flicked at the paper as though it had personally insulted his family or Nando’s or both. “How’re we supposed to figure out what this means? Best fucking drink ever? So we’re supposed to start with a Guinness?”  
  
Liam snorted.  
  
“Guinness is not the best drink ever.”  
  
“It’s absobloodylutely the best drink ever.”  
  
“To you it is, you stereotypical leprechaun, but that doesn’t mean-“  
  
“But this isn’t for us.” Zayn cocked his head to the side and peered curiously at Niall, like Liam had just given away his secret and he’d just sprouted leprechaun ears or something. The look on Zayn’s face was so convincing that Harry had to check himself, but Niall’s ears were sadly still quite normal. “We’re not the ones drinking it. We’re not the ones cursed.”  
  
“So, what, it’s the best drink ever according to Tommo?” Niall glanced behind Harry towards the bed where Louis still lay, his tone a mix of incredulousness and actual interest, like Zayn was on to something. “So we’re supposed to start with a good old cup o’ Yorkshire?”  
  
“Nothing less will do.” Harry took the paper back from Liam and scanned it again to make sure he’d recited that part right. It certainly made sense. It made a lot of sense. That almost sounded like something Louis would say about his tea too.  
  
_Because it’s fucking true. If you lot think I’m drinking anything but a proper cuppa..._ _  
_  
“Uh.”  
  
“What?” Liam asked after Harry made that noise and nothing else. Harry looked up, shook his head.  
  
“Nothing just...Lou’s agreeing that’s the best drink ever but-“ he frowned, “how is he supposed to drink it?”  
  
None of them had any answers to that.  
  
“That bridge doesn’t matter if we can’t figure out how to cross the rest of this first,” Liam finally said, motioning to the lower portion of the paper Harry was still holding. “A prick of where you’re going and where you’ve been? Ignoring the absurdity of the second part, a prick isn’t even a unit of measurement.”  
  
_Can be. Just a wee bit smaller for some than others, huh, Payno?_ _  
_  
Harry snorted and immediately tried to pretend he didn’t by shoving the back of his hand to his lips, like the lads didn’t know him at all and would actually think he was trying not to sneeze.  
  
Liam was so far from impressed Harry felt like he’d been caught by one of his primary school teachers nicking all the erasers from the board.  
  
“Please tell me you did not make a dick joke just now, Tommo.”  
  
“Like I said, appropriately dirty at the most inappropriate times.” Zayn shrugged without even waiting for Harry or Louis to answer.  
  
Because they all knew that’s exactly what Louis had just done.  
  
_Still perfectly appropriate time, you wanker._ _  
_  
Harry agreed.  
  
“Zayn’s probably right though.” Niall sat back on his bum, pulling out his legs so he could prop his knees up as armrests. He scratched at his forehead before adding, “Not about the dirty jokes. Though you are right about that too. I mean that we’re not meant to figure this out. Tommo’s got to.”  
  
They all looked at Harry.  
  
Harry looked at...uh.  
  
“Lou?” He finally asked the wall, after looking at each of them in turn. He'd almost turned to look at Louis’s body behind him on the bed but caught himself just in time.  
  
Louis didn’t say anything. Harry was about to ask again when Louis sighed.  
  
_I don’t know._ _  
_  
Harry shook his head and shrugged for the other three. He could hear the borderline mix of frustration and resignation starting to leak into Louis’s voice just beneath the blunt answer he gave.  
  
“We still have some time,” he said quickly, still looking between Liam and Niall towards the wall so they knew he was talking to Louis. He remembered then that Louis didn’t know Liam had been on the phone with management and quickly relayed that to him, before finishing with: “It’s there. It has to be, like the memory.”  
  
Zayn winced and gave a subtle shake of his head, but Harry caught it, even if it didn’t look like he was meant to see it. He still called him out on it.  
  
“What?”  
  
Zayn looked up and then cleared his throat, just as subtly.  
  
“Maybe not quite like the memory? I can’t imagine we’ve got to go through all this again for that.” He was rubbing his thumb over the pads of his other fingers, like they could pluck out what he was trying to say, tease it out of his brain for him. They probably could. Zayn had some talented fingers if his art was any proof. “It feels more like it’s supposed to be... instinct. Or gut feeling.”  
  
“Why?” Niall asked with the same tone he normally reserved for Harry when he spouted something that made no sense. Harry couldn’t disagree with it either. It wasn’t often that Zayn made no sense like this.  
  
“Because,” Zayn’s brows furrowed and he paused.  
  
Also nothing they hadn’t seen before. Zayn did better with just going quiet until he found the words, whereas everyone else in the world tended to need to fill the space with useless sounds. Finally he nodded.  
  
“Because it’s like the best drink in the world. Tommo doesn’t need to remember the best drink according to Tommo, does he? Anyone here honestly think he needs to be reminded that he loves Yorkshire tea?”  
  
_I still find meself too many fucking times needing to remind you lot that it’s the best tea though._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled at Louis while the other two grinned at Zayn. Zayn took that as his cue and added, “So it’s like that. He just knows. Just instinct.” He looked directly into Harry’s eyes, complete with a bit of a lean in. “You’ll just know it, Tommo. And you’ll know it’s right because you just will.”  
  
“No meditation or spiritual dreaming shite needed for this bird bath,” Niall added with a grin when he caught Zayn’s drift, before reaching with finality for the bag of Doritos he’d dropped to help with the pile of clothes.  
  
“I still haven’t asked about that,” Liam muttered, quietly enough like he actually never intended to ask. Probably because he doubted Niall’s explanation would make any sense.  
  
“So I guess we just wait,” Niall said instead of explaining, though judging from the look he gave Liam he’d obviously heard Liam's mutter too. He glanced back to Harry and shrugged. “No pressure, Tommo, but-“ he held his hands up - one holding the bag, the other a single Dorito - in an even bigger shrug, “you’re up.” Then he chomped down.  
  
_Gee, thanks, Nialler._ _  
_  
Niall flashed Harry a beaming grin when Harry repeated that.  
  
“You’re quite welcome. Always happy to help.”  
  
_Twat._ _  
_  
Harry chuckled and immediately took the point.  
  
_You can’t just take a point every time I say twat, Harold._ _  
  
”Why not? Not like Niall’s using it.”  
  
But you didn’t earn it.  
  
”I’ve had you in my head for three days. I’ve earned it.”  
  
So now you get points just for being special? If you really want a fucking participation trophy-  
_  
Zayn cleared his throat and when Harry looked at him he made a circle at his own face as though to say, _you’re doing it again_. Harry wondered which look he was making, but only for a second, instead deciding to change the look and poke his tongue out at Zayn. He held up one finger to stop Zayn from saying anything. He wasn’t done yet. He ignored Zayn’s long-suffering look too.  
  
_”I’ll have you know it’s been in the rules for years. You say ‘twat’ I get the point. Doesn’t matter who makes you say it.”_ _  
  
Well it’s not in the rules that you get it no matter who I call a twat.  
  
”But it’s not in the rules that I get it only when you call me one either, therefore-”  
_  
“Lads.” Zayn caught Harry’s cheeks in both hands and dragged his gaze away from the wall, the only way Zayn could 'look' at them both. “Are you actually trying to figure this out, or having one of your rounds over something mental?”  
  
Harry held up a finger again, this time to protest that this was an important conversation and-  
  
...somehow that translated into an answer to Zayn and he had no idea how. Before he could say anything Zayn cut him off with a single shake of Harry’s head in his hands, a sigh, and a _right._  
  
Wanker.  
  
_He is. Tell him._ _  
_  
Harry opened his mouth to tell Zayn because he _was_ a wanker, but-  
  
His mouth snapped shut over the word. Louis _almost_ got him but Harry caught it just in time. Louis groaned.  
  
_Twat._ _  
_  
Harry grinned and Louis groaned again, adding a ‘fuck’ to it this time.  
  
“Harry, you _really_ look ten shades of mental right now,” Niall spoke up, trying to do Harry a huge service by telling him. “We’re not being interviewed, you know. So you really don’t need to do that.”  
  
Louis snorted out a laugh in his head and Harry scrunched up his nose in distaste at Niall. But once again Niall just grinned, far too innocently for being the Irish bastard he was.  
  
“How about you go make Tommo’s tea,” Liam cut in when Harry opened his mouth to not let Niall get away with that. Liam must be on Niall’s side, conniving little-... “We’ll figure out how Tommo’s going to drink it, and Tommo, you can figure out exactly how you’re going to drink your prick,” he said, complete with crossed arms, a very challenging cocked eyebrow, and an obvious smirk.  
  
It was Harry’s turn to snort and he did not hold back on that in the slightest.  
  
_What_ ** _does_** _that taste like, Payno? Sucking your own dick?_ _  
_  
Harry barked out a laugh and even though Louis hadn’t missed a beat (as evidenced by how quickly Harry laughed) it still took several moments of pressing his lips together before he could repeat that with all the smug amusement in it that Louis had used.  
  
Niall burst out laughing too and actually plunged his hand into the bag of Doritos while staring at Liam with wide eyes, waiting for the rebound.  
  
For a moment Harry thought the shock on Liam's face was because what Louis had said was so unexpected that it threw Liam.  
  
Liam shook his head, incredulous.  
  
“Seeing as that’s the only way you’ll get a mouth on yours, Tommo, I’m surprised you haven’t tried it yet.”  
  
Niall’s mouth popped open and he shoved another Dorito into it since it was open, now turning to look back at Harry. Not that they needed to wait long for Louis’s retort.  
  
_Mate, I was enjoying the feel of a mouth on me long before you even realized you have a cock._  
  
“Sucking your thumb isn’t the same as sucking your dick,” Liam reprimanded with all the gentle force of a father needing to scold his child but not wanting to hurt him at the same time.  
  
_How would you know? Aren’t yours the same size?_ _  
_  
“Fucking hell,” Zayn finally muttered once Harry had repeated that, shaking his head. He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips though, even as he rubbed at his forehead then pushed at Harry’s arm. “This is never going to end. Go make the tea. Tommo, you have to figure out the second part of this cure or whatever it is, then you two can go back to taking the piss out of each other’s dicks when we can hear both sides.”  
  
“Oh, good one there, Zayn,” Niall cut in with a grin, tossing a Dorito at him like a prize.  
  
Even if he didn’t obviously mean it as a pun, Zayn caught the crisp against his chest, wiped the cheese dust off his shirt and ate it, staring at Harry.  
  
He kept staring until Harry held up his hands in surrender and stood up, but not before he paused and looked over the heap of dirty clothing to Liam and winked.  
  
“Not bad, Payno. I’m surprised. Neither of you get points though.” He shrugged, even though they all looked a bit confused. “Dick jokes are logged under unoriginality in the rulebook. Too easy.”  
  
“Go make the cuppa,” Zayn repeated as Niall started cackling again.  
  
As Harry left the room to do just that Zayn muttered to Liam, “Appropriately dirty at the most inappropriate time. Really, mate?”  
  
Harry paused and leaned against the wall just outside the door with his arms crossed to see if Liam had anything to say to that.  
  
“Far more appropriate, was only responding to the one he made about me earlier.”  
  
“You don’t know that it was about you.”  
  
“It was after what I said. Of course it was about me.”  
  
Zayn scoffed but didn’t immediately respond, which Harry was pretty certain meant he was agreeing with Liam.  
  
Pulling away from the door, he rounded the bend into the living room, Louis’s muttering about their bloody rules and about Zayn being a wanker following him all the way to the kitchen.  
  
If he was making tea for Louis, he may as well make tea for them all. They could all do with a nice cuppa right about now. So after giving his hands a quick wash, he filled the kettle all the way and flicked it on, then pulled down five mugs and the different teabags and the milk and sugar out while the water boiled.  
  
_What else did you tell the lads about what happened Friday night?_ _  
_  
Harry paused with the sugar halfway down from the cupboard, frowning in confusion, both from the question and the slight...hesitance?... in Louis’s voice.  
  
“Only about the paper with the-" he cast his mind back to what Cassie had called it, “-recipe-cure.”  
  
_That’s it?_  
  
Now Louis sounded surprised. Which made Harry surprised because Louis was surprised. He set the sugar down and leaned his lower back against the worktop, crossing his arms.  
  
“Of course. I know I should have waited for you to come back before I brought it up, but I-...we-...time and all. Why?”  
  
_Just surprised, is all._ _  
_  
“Surprisingly,” Harry smirked, “I got that. Why’re you surprised?”  
  
_Just...Pretty big deal, innit? Sure the lads want to know why I chose this whole fucking thing too, yea?_ _  
_  
“I think that might be the first thing they ask you about when you wake up,” Harry agreed, reaching for the kettle when it clicked off and pouring the water into each of the mugs.  
  
_So why didn’t you tell them?_ _  
_  
“Same reason they didn’t ask me for more details, I reckon.” Harry set the kettle back down and started adding the right dosages of milk into the mugs, pausing at the third to point at each one again and remind himself - _Lou, Liam, Niall, Zayn, me_ \- before he tipped the right amount of milk for Niall into the third mug. “Not my place. ‘Sides, I only saw what you said, not what you were thinking.”  
  
He paused again as he was about to pour the milk into his own mug. Louis still hadn’t responded. It took a moment to register exactly why Louis was bringing it up, but then he sighed, finished with the milk and picked up the sugar to dose the teas with that next.  
  
“It’s your memory, Lou. And you didn’t have to, but you let me in to see it. But that doesn’t mean it’s mine to talk about. It’s important, yea, but it’s still not my place. I would never do that without asking you first.”  
  
Louis stayed silent.  
  
Once more Harry found himself wishing Louis were back in his body so he could read his expression, to know what he was thinking, at least in part. It had taken a lot of practice to get to the point where he felt he knew anything with confidence about what Louis was thinking. He always knew _when_ Louis was thinking something, but _what_ exactly he was thinking was still impressively hard to do sometimes, even for him.  
  
_Thanks, Hazza._ _  
_  
Harry smiled, something let go in his chest he didn’t realize was stuck there.  
  
“Anytime, Lou.” He still had his own questions about what he’d seen, but he wasn’t going to pry. If Louis wanted to talk to him about it, he would. If not, well...that was ok too.


	20. Chapter 20

He picked up the middle three mugs, careful to keep them straight and not drop them, and walked them back to Louis’s bedroom where he handed Niall—seated at the corner end of the bed closest to the desk and by Louis’s feet—the cup balanced between the other two. Then he crossed his arms over themselves so he could hand the right one to Zayn, who was to the left seated in the chair at Louis’s desk in front of his laptop, and the left one to Liam, who was perched on the edge of the desk to the right of Zayn.  
  
The pile of clothes that they’d strewn all across the room searching for the paper had disappeared, probably back in the walk-in, but the paper was on the desk next to Zayn’s laptop. He’d had to push a pile of dirty dishes, papers, and Louis’s laptop aside to make room for his own.  
  
They all looked quite surprised by the tea and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.  
  
“What. You think Lou’s the only one who needs some tea right now? He’s just the only one who can’t drink it.”  
  
Liam smiled and gave Harry's shoulder a firm, grateful squeeze.  
  
“Hope you made yourself one too?”  
  
Harry jerked his head towards the door.  
  
“Ran out of hands. I’ll just pop back and get them.”  
  
 _You know, four hands would have been far more helpful than four nipples._ _  
_  
“I’ll remember that for my next incarnation.” Harry shrugged, then tapped his temple when Liam shot him the strangest look, before he left the room to grab the other two mugs.  
  
 _Gonna incarnate on this planet again or head back to Venus?_ _  
_  
“Depends.”  
  
 _On what?_ _  
_  
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  
  
 _Why yes, Harold, I would. Why else would I be asking._ _  
_  
“So did you figure it all out yet, Tommo?” Liam asked as Harry walked back into the room with the last two mugs. He set Louis’s on the dresser rather than on his bedside table because it was easier and closer.  
  
Not like Louis was about to sit up and drink it anyway.  
  
Liam took a sip of his tea, studying Harry over the rim. He wasn’t careful about the sip, so this must not be the first sip he’d taken. His gaze was oddly penetrating too. It reminded Harry of Friday night when he’d too-casually stated that he’d heard Harry was making rounds of the party scene.  
  
“The second half of the riddle I mean?” Liam clarified before Harry could get too deep into his thoughts.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure what else he could have meant by that question, but he shook his head at the same time that Louis was saying no a little more colourfully in his mind.  
  
“Have you figured out how he’ll drink it once he does?” Harry countered, sitting on the bottom edge of the bed next to Niall with his own mug, back to Louis’s body.  
  
“Not quite. We may have a slight problem with that." Zayn had been the one looking up how they could possibly make Louis drink while Harry was making the tea and now he pushed at his temples, slid his laptop back away from him on Louis’s desk and shook his head. Sitting back in the chair, he took a sip of his tea. “Everything I’ve read says not to do it, make an unconscious person drink, because it’ll just make them choke.”  
  
“Well how else is he supposed to drink it?” Niall asked.  
  
“He has to be able to drink it. There’s no way this would be the way to break the curse if he can’t drink it,” Harry said before Zayn could answer.  
  
“So maybe he’ll just swallow it on his own?” Liam tried.  
  
Niall looked up at him.  
  
“What? Just pour some of it in his mouth and hope he doesn’t choke because his body somehow knows it’s there?”  
  
“Are any of us willing to test that?” Harry certainly didn’t want to just pour liquid down Louis’s throat and hope for the best. He’d had enough ‘hoping for the best’ this weekend. He personally hated hope. He despised hope. “It could just end up going straight down his throat into his lungs, right? How would we even know?”  
  
“If he’s knocked out, yea. But...does this count as that? Obviously it’s all been magic so far,” Niall reminded them, motioning between Harry and Liam. They'd had this argument two days ago when the other lads first found out what was happening. Even now that hadn’t been answered: exactly what state Louis’s body was in right now. The only thing they knew for sure, because of all the changes each time Harry woke up, was that Louis definitely wasn’t in some sort of ‘magical time-out’ as Niall had called it earlier.  
  
Zayn was still frowning. Hand resting on the desk, he slowly tapped his pointer finger in time with a beat only in his head.  
  
“Well the only difference I’ve found that may be useful is that a conscious person still has their gag reflex working. So if the food or drink does go down the wrong way you’d know.”  
  
“...We could just test that first then?” Niall said after a few moments. “If we know that reflex works then we’ll be able to know if he’s swallowed or inhaled it.” He looked at Zayn. “What does it say to do for someone who isn’t knocked out then?”  
  
“Most of that talks about how to get someone to swallow a pill.” Zayn reached for his laptop again and scanned something, clicked two times, scrolled down.  
  
Harry couldn’t quite see the page on the screen, but it looked a bit like WikiHow and fucking hell, if they were actually using WikiHow to break a curse on Louis this world had truly gone topside.  
  
“Yea,” Zayn said after a moment, focusing on them. “So if they need to swallow a pill but someone’s throat is locked up in fear or some shit like that, says what you want to do is get them to relax, but the only one I can see that doesn’t involve them being awake to relax is massaging the throat to make them swallow.”  
  
 _Kinky._ _  
  
”Of all the times to speak up and that’s what you’ve got to say?”  
_  
Alright, so maybe Zayn was on to something with his ‘inappropriate time” bit.  
  
 _No, he’s just a wanker. What? Gonna tell me a throat massage isn’t kinky, Haz? Thought necks were ‘sinful’ to you._ _  
_  
Harry pressed his lips together.  
  
 _”You completely missed the point of that word.”_ _  
  
Oi, I’m only repeating what you said.  
  
”...Well maybe I was lying.”  
_  
Louis burst out laughing. Harry should have expected that.  
  
 _You really do fucking think necks are sinful, don’t you!_ _  
_  
He said that like he hadn’t believed it before. Harry groaned, dropping his head into his tea-less hand.  
  
“We’ll figure it out, Harry, don’t worry,” Liam said, obviously concerned.  
  
Harry shook his head and waved his hand at the same time, then waved the same hand at his temple.  
  
“Ah.” Liam got the message. “Anything useful?”  
  
Harry just shook his head again.  
  
Niall had been looking at Harry but now turned back to Zayn and asked, “So if it triggers his gag reflex we’ll know he’s not unconscious and if he swallowed it or not, right?”  
  
Harry had no idea how they got to this point, so he must’ve missed part of the conversation while he was talking with Louis.  
  
“If his gag reflex even works right now.” Zayn was still frowning like that was the only expression he knew how to do anymore. “We don’t even know that.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat, not exactly intending it to sound like he had something to say even if he did, but the other three looked at him anyway.  
  
“It—” he cleared his throat again and actually meant to this time, starting over so they could actually hear him. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, so much as he didn’t want to have to remember this and he knew he’d have to explain as soon as he said it. But it seemed like the information would be useful. “It worked in my dream.”  
  
“What did?” Niall asked after sharing a look with Liam.  
  
Harry scratched at his forehead with the back of his thumbnail, squeezed one eye shut more than the other so it screwed up the look on his face into something he hoped was indecipherable.  
  
 _Better out than in, yea? What did?_ _  
_  
Harry pushed out the words.  
  
“Lou’s gag reflex.”  
  
He must’ve said it seriously enough or looked mental enough that none of them even thought to make some sort of a joke about how Harry knew that or why.  
  
Harry opened his eyes to find them merely blinking at him in surprised confusion. He sighed, rolled his shoulders back until his spine popped right at the top and was about to take bets with himself over who would ask first (Zayn probably) when—  
  
“How—" Zayn started, but Harry shrugged before he could complete the question. He hadn’t exactly told any of them what else had happened in the last dream, except that Louis had remembered.  
  
“This last time. After—" he made a motion with his hand around the room, like that meant something. “When I found him, I couldn’t get him to wake up. Something ah...about it all... made me remember that Lou’s not really sleeping. Didn’t know what else to do so I tried that and it worked.”  
  
He hoped, even for his slow speech, that he’d said it all quickly enough to make it quite clear that he didn’t want to explain any further.  
  
“So... if it still worked in there because he’s not really asleep up here,” he motioned at his head, “maybe that means it’s still working here, right?”  
  
“We definitely have to test it then,” Niall finally said, with such finality that Harry didn’t know if he was closing the door on asking Harry to explain more, or ensuring no one argued with that statement.  
  
“We do?” Harry decided on the first option, because he really did not want a replay of that moment from the dream and he _was_ going to argue with that statement. Well, question it at least. That was not the point he’d been trying to make with telling them.  
  
“Haz, what’d I tell you about your dreams trying to tell you something?” Niall lightly backhanded his bicep so he didn’t spill Harry’s tea in the process. “That can’t be a coincidence.”  
  
The last thing Harry ever wanted was for something like that to be a coincidence, but if it _wasn’t_ a coincidence, he’d much prefer for it to be something more serious, something that actually merited having to go through the utter hell of that whole experience. It was probably going to take at least half a year of therapy sessions with his journal to resolve. And that was on top of the piles of journals he’d no doubt need to therapy his way out of the nightmare and the acid trip of Louis’s memory and...other things.  
  
“We’re singers, not murderers, much as Tommo wishes all the time he could be one,” Liam pointed out with a shake of his head. He set his tea down on the desk so he could cross his arms over his chest. “I for one am not going to just throw liquid down his throat and hope for the best just because it’s supposedly magic and your dreams maybe said so, Haz.”  
  
“Jesus Mary n’ Joseph,” Niall muttered, “couldn’t any of this actually be easy?”  
  
Zayn snorted, though only halfway, because he was in the middle of taking a drink.  
  
“Not if it involves Tommo apparently.”  
  
That was true. Even Louis knew that. What was it he’d said to Harry? It was his ‘civic fucking duty’ to make things difficult?  
  
“I don’t think it happened in Harry’s dream to say it would work, but maybe to give us the idea that it could,” Niall added, still musing over it all, glancing from Liam, who he’d just said that to, back to Louis’s body behind him. “Give us the idea to actually check.”  
  
They were all silent, the other three glancing between Harry and Louis’s body.  
  
Harry just stared down at his tea.  
  
It was Zayn who finally broke the silence.  
  
“So check his reflex it is then.”  
  
“Are you forgetting what usually happens when you trigger that?” Harry certainly didn’t forget and while it hadn’t left a mess in the dream, he did not relish the thought of having to deal with the contents of Louis’ stomach all over the bed or the floor on top of everything else. Unlike triggering thoughts that left disgusting emotional messes, this left a disgusting physical mess.  
  
There was no way he’d be able to force Louis to clean it up after all.  
  
“Of the two choices we have, one seems much worse than the other, and it’s not that one,” Zayn concluded, giving Harry a shrug. “And we just need to know if it works, not trigger it until he heaves. You might as well just get it over with.”  
  
Harry’s back shot up straight, spine locking in place.  
  
“Me? Why?”  
  
“Because you’ve already done it once and know what to expect?” Niall tried, looking rather concerned by Harry’s reaction. Like that was a perfectly good reason. It absolutely wasn’t.  
  
“What makes you think I want to go through that again?” Harry asked before he could stop the words from spilling out, more strained than he’d intended them to be too, judging by the muted looks of pity on their faces and the awkward silence that followed.  
  
 _Be that fucking Nike ad, Haz. Just do it._ _  
_  
Harry shook his head instinctively, gripped at his mug too tightly. He didn’t even want to turn around, much less do this. He stared at the wall above Liam’s head to not confuse the other lads when he spoke out loud again.  
  
“Why me?”  
  
 _Because of the lot of you, I know every place your fucking fingers have been in the last 40 hours or whatever and you just washed them making tea. Nialler has probably licked food off his fifty fucking times today alone, Payno clearly doesn’t know the difference between his cock and his fingers, and Zayn’s a wanker, obviously. So that makes you the chosen one, Harry Potter._ _  
_  
Harry groaned even as he laughed, spine unlocking his head so it dropped into his free hand.  
  
“You still do _not_ get any points for that,” he muttered. Harry Potter jokes and calling the toilets the ‘loo’ were both in the rulebook under ‘no points’ for unoriginality too. He sighed, slumping his shoulders for good measure. He did try one more time though. “Why couldn’t the burpees be enough?”  
  
Of course Louis had an answer for that too.  
  
 _Because you only did 69. I requested 78._ _  
_  
“You did not.”  
  
 _I did actually. You were just too busy huffing like an out of work lorry driver to hear the request._ _  
_  
“Not sure I believe that.” Harry refused to acknowledge that he was feeling calmer already, even if by thinking the thought that meant he was acknowledging. “Was that before or after the ‘You can do it, pumpkin, don’t want to look like a pumpkin, do you?’”  
  
 _Why should I fucking remember that? That’s not what I said anyway._ _  
_  
“Uh huh. Thought so.”  
  
 _Look, can’t get much worse than this, right? Just put your fingers in my mouth, Haz. We’re running out of fucking time, aren’t we._ _  
_  
Harry sighed, pushed his fingers through his hair before straightening back up.  
  
“Fine.” He blinked and focused back on the other three, motioned at his head and then said, “I’ll do it.”  
  
“Well that’s settled then.” Niall looked far too relieved that Harry was the one doing it. “Go on then, Haz.”  
  
Harry almost wanted to punch him, but he was too kind for that and instead settled on deciding he was absolutely going to find a pigeon and set it loose in Niall’s flat.  
  
There was no way he could do this without looking. With a final deep breath he handed his mug to Niall and twisted to climb on hands and knees back along the bed to Louis' side, looking down at him for the first time with Louis back in his head to see his own body because there was no way he could do this without looking at him.  
  
 _Jesus_ , Louis said right as Harry pulled the duvet off his chest. _You weren’t fucking taking the piss were you, Haz._ _  
_  
Harry pressed his lips together, scooted back towards the headboard and sat on his feet, thighs parted. Leaning forward, he lifted Louis under his shoulders, sliding him back and up between his legs to rest against his chest. Sat like this he didn't need to lean against the headboard and both of them were almost straight upright.  
  
 _How long have I been like this?_ _  
_  
“Since I woke up from the nightmare. Nothing changed this last time.”  
  
Louis was silent the whole time Harry settled his body up against him the way he’d held him on the walkway in his dream.

Harry's jaw clenched. The obvious differences between the dream and now were hardly helping to counter the similarities. He didn’t need to think the differences, because he could feel them. He’d held Louis when he’d put the pullover on him, but the way Louis felt right now proved just how little Harry could feel in dreams and how cold Louis was now in comparison to yesterday morning. What he had been able to feel in the dream had been at least a warm, comforting weight.  
  
Louis’s weight was still comforting, but not warm at all.  
  
Harry still hadn’t put on a shirt since waking up and the pullover Louis was wearing was doing nothing to stop the cold of his body from seeping straight through to Harry's bare skin.  
  
It was one thing to have to hold him like this in the dreams, he’d done it a few times now, but to do it here...something about it just felt far more real. So the fact that Louis had looked more...alive in the dream than he did right now really wasn’t sitting well with Harry.  
  
 _I really am out of time, aren’t I._ _  
_  
Harry tensed.  
  
“You don’t need to say it quite like that.”  
  
Say it like they weren’t running out of time because of tour or because of the Brits or because of people finding out, but like Louis himself was running out of time. Harry had to help the shudder that wanted to rumble down his spine do so, rolling his shoulders back before focusing on Louis again.  
  
 _Well it’s true, innit? Do I even have any blood left?_ _  
_  
Once Louis was resting with his head right at the front curve of Harry’s shoulder, Harry turned his gaze to the ceiling for a breath. He looked back down again long enough to ease two fingers into Louis’s mouth, far more carefully this time. Gazing somewhere at the wall between Zayn and Liam across the room, he focused only by feel rather than by sight. Just enough to check, not enough to make anything come up.  
  
Fucking please, let nothing come up.  
  
 _Look mum, I can talk with my fucking mouth full._ _  
_  
“You’re such a fucking arse,” Harry breathed, though he huffed out a quiet, grateful laugh nonetheless. Louis may not be in his body and his body may not look in a good way and he may not be able to see Harry, but he still had an uncanny ability to know when Harry was drowning. “You always talk with your mouth full anyway.”  
  
He could see the amused smiles the other three had without focusing on them.  
  
 _Mm, soap. Should’ve stuck your fingers in me Coco Pops first. They’d taste better._ _  
_  
“Kinky.”  
  
 _Nah, just dirty at the appropriate time, right, Zayn, you wanker?_ _  
_  
Harry didn’t have a chance to repeat or respond to that. With another careful flex, his fingertips barely grazed the unnaturally cold wetness at the back of Louis’s throat.  
  
Louis convulsed just slightly against him, muscles twitching around his fingers as though if Harry pressed any harder he would start choking.  
  
Harry whipped his fingers back as though burned, knowing the others had seen Louis’s reaction.  
  
“Alright, it works.” Liam leaned back against the wall without getting up from the edge of the desk while Harry wiped his fingers on his pyjamas. “Reckon he’ll drink it then?”  
  
“We’ll have to try once it’s ready. Just waiting on Tommo now.” Zayn seemed to be wishing he had a different response, judging by the frown on his face as he took another sip of his tea, still focused on Louis, brows furrowed.  
  
The moment Harry finished wiping his fingers he dug the tops of his feet into the bed, hands under Louis' shoulders so he could lay him back down again.  
  
 _Hazza, wait._ _  
_  
Harry immediately froze, holding Louis upright with his hands. His body was a few inches away from Harry’s chest now with his head still tipped back against Harry’s shoulder.  
  
“What?” he asked after about ten seconds of silence, wishing once again that he could see Louis’s face - well, awake face - to have some idea of what he was thinking. “Lou?”  
  
Louis sighed.  
  
 _Let me see my finger._ _  
_  
Huh?  
  
 _Finger. Fin-ger. Those things you just had down me fucking throat? I’ve got them too._ _  
_  
Harry rolled his eyes, but then his brows furrowed.  
  
“Why?” he asked as he eased Louis back against him again. The other three were watching curiously but not saying anything, probably because they knew Harry would relay it when he needed to.  
  
 _Because I want to fucking give you my middle finger. Obviously._ _  
_  
Harry smirked, but didn’t say anything. Once Louis was settled again with his head tucked into Harry’s neck this time to keep him from slipping off (and close enough to _not_ tickle), he reached for Louis’s right hand, drew it up in his own and twisted it so he could get a good look at Louis’s palm. He held Louis's middle finger straight with his other hand so Louis could see the line of the paper cut from Friday. Sat like this he had to squeeze Louis against his chest in a half hug with both biceps to keep him from slipping.  
  
He very carefully made sure it looked nothing like Louis was giving anyone the middle finger too.  
  
In his peripheral Zayn and Liam shared a look behind Niall before focusing back on them again, but he was mostly paying attention to the thin slice he could still see in Louis’s finger.  
  
It looked mostly healed now, barely there, but Harry remembered that most of the healing had happened in an instant, not even a minute after it had happened. Mostly healed by magic.  
  
“What’re you thinking, Lou?” He instinctively turned his head just enough to murmur it near Louis’s temple because of how close Louis was and nearly got a mouthful of hair for his troubles.  
  
 _This is the other half._ _  
_  
“Your cut?”  
  
 _My blood._ _  
_  
Harry blinked.  
  
Louis groaned and sighed at the same time, a strange mixture of resignation and annoyance.  
  
 _A prick of blood. That’s what it is. That’s what happened when I chose all this, wasn’t it?_ _  
_  
Harry instantly remembered the flash that had appeared in the drink the moment Cassie had dipped Louis’s bloody napkin in the liquid. He had no idea why Louis needed to see his finger to figure it out, but he suddenly understood why Louis was groaning.  
  
“Like sleeping beauty?” Harry couldn’t resist. He simply couldn’t resist. “We have to prick your finger on a spinning wheel?”  
  
 _I will fucking murder you._  
  
Louis definitely grumbled that.  
  
“You could do. But I think that would make you sad.”  
  
What Harry had just said out loud was enough to clue the others in to what was going on though.  
  
“That’s it? A prick of blood? Like a pinprick?” Liam was the first to speak up, drawing Harry’s attention away before Louis could respond.  
  
Niall was already jumping up from the bed. He stopped at Louis’s bedside table, set both his and Harry’s mugs down, then threw open the drawer. Rifling through the contents for something, he lifted up a handful of condoms without even paying attention to them to search through what was underneath.  
  
Turning his head to watch Niall put his chin right over Louis’s head so Harry propped his chin onto Louis's beanie-covered hair right as Louis started snickering. Harry was trying very hard not to laugh out loud himself, but he couldn’t keep his face from twisting in the attempt, completely unable to stop the faint snort that escaped.  
  
Niall paused and looked up at Harry, down at Louis, back up at Harry, then down to where Harry was looking at the condoms in his hand. He blinked, surprise crossing his features like he just noticed what he was holding, then said, “Tommo, you know you’re supposed to actually use these right? Not collect them.”  
  
 _Fuck off, Nialler._ _  
_  
Harry repeated that in no time at all. Niall wiggled his eyebrows and held the handful in front of Harry’s face.  
  
“I do. That’s why my stash isn’t anywhere near this stocked and unused.”  
  
Before Louis could even start answering in Harry’s head, Niall dropped the lot back in the drawer then slid it shut and headed towards Louis’s washroom.  
  
Across the room Zayn and Liam were both trying to stifle their laughter, sharing a look.  
  
“Wait, one prick or two?” Niall paused in the doorway, peering at Harry.  
  
He lifted his chin from Louis’s head to turn left even more and look at Niall. Even though Niall was clearly talking to Louis, that question didn’t make much sense to Harry. Judging from Louis’ silence, he felt the same.  
  
Harry blinked.  
  
Niall blinked back.  
  
Harry blinked again.  
  
So Niall explained.  
  
“The curse breaker paper says a prick of blood from where you’re going and a prick from where you’ve been, yea? So you’ve been yourself and you’re going back to yourself, yea? So one prick or two?”  
  
They really needed to have a talk with Niall over his word choice.  
  
 _Just one._ _  
_  
“He says just o—"  
  
 _From me._ _  
_  
“Harry?” Zayn asked, because he’d frozen mid sentence, too confused that he forgot to finish. Instead of answering Zayn, he passed the question on to Louis by looking down at him where he was still lying against Harry's chest.  
  
 _Just one from me._  
  
Still thinking them through while he said them, Louis said the words surprisingly slowly for a Louis-sentence, like he knew they were right but didn’t know why they were right yet. Harry repeated that for the others. Niall still didn’t move from the doorway though.  
  
The light bulb clicked on over Niall's head, his face lighting up.  
  
“The other prick is from Harry, isn’t it.”  
  
“One from where you’re going and one from where you’ve been." Zayn caught on a moment later.  
  
“Which is which?” Liam asked curiously.  
  
Harry hadn't even fully processed that now he was going to have to give his blood too. Blood and burpees. They should write a song with that title. It could go on their next album and they could call that album _What the Actual Fuck?_  
  
 _What the actual fuck, Haz?_ _  
_  
Harry blinked and shook his head at Louis’s thinly-concealed amusement.  
  
Management probably wouldn’t let them curse though. Heh. Curse. Oh, he might be doing it again. Not the time to laugh at his own puns.  
  
“Does that matter?” Niall asked right back at Liam, knocking Harry from his thoughts. He’d matched Liam’s tone before he ducked into the bathroom, adding, “Right now we’ve got two sleeping beauties and no spinning wheel.”  
  
“I’m not asleep,” Harry shot back almost immediately, at the exact same time that Louis said the same thing.  
  
“Aye, neither was the princess when she was _pricked_ , princess,” the bathroom called out, agreeing with Harry, like Harry and Louis had agreed with Niall’s original assessment.  
  
Apparently Louis’s washroom was an Irish bastard too.  
  
Harry had no problem being called a princess or a beauty, more that he on principle needed to remind them that he wasn’t the sleeping beauty in this whole mix-up because he wasn’t cursed. It just felt necessary.  
  
Harry heard Niall opening drawers and sliding the over-sink mirror open. A silence, then, “You got any needles in here, Tommo?”  
  
Oh, needles. So that’s what he’d been looking for...under the condoms?  
  
 _He doesn’t make sense, Haz. Bird shite, remember?_ _  
_  
“Unless you’ve got a spinning wheel somewhere you haven’t told us about yet?” Zayn said in the break where Harry should have repeated what Louis said, arching an eyebrow at Harry but nodding at Louis still lying against him.  
  
Harry should lay him back down already but he was actually quite comfortable where he was right now, though maybe a mite cold from holding an ice cube against his bare chest.  
  
And his feet. They were beginning to fall asleep under his bum.  
  
 _Such a fucking wanker. And why would I just have fucking needles lying around?_ _  
_  
Instead of moving, Harry relayed only that second part to Niall, who stopped long enough to dip his head back out around the corner and look at Harry.  
  
“Well unless you want your finger pricked with a bloody kitchen knife...”  
  
“Was that pun really necessary?” Harry asked, barely keeping a faint whinge out of his voice. Niall wiggled his eyebrows then disappeared back into the bathroom.  
  
Zayn was opening the desk drawer now, rifling through the contents.  
  
“Aha!” the bathroom exclaimed. The tap turning on came next. Then Niall reemerged triumphantly, holding a large safety pin in his wet hand that he must’ve just cleaned. “Bit small for a spinning wheel, but this’ll do, yea?”  
  
He held it out to Harry like Harry was supposed to—  
  
“No.” Harry shook his head. “Absolutely not.”  
  
“It’s just a prick, Haz,” Niall said, looking both confused and a little bit devious, like he’d specifically chosen those words yet again. “You’re already right there to poke Tommo. You haven’t even let go of his hand yet.”  
  
They _really_ needed to have a sit down about his word choice.  
  
Harry was definitely going to throw out all the Guinness too.  
  
Harry glanced down. He was still holding Louis’s hand palm up, though both their hands had fallen into Louis’s lap.  
  
He let go and shook his head.  
  
“I’m still not going to be the one to do it. One of you can.”  
  
 _Haz, he’s right, it’s just—_ _  
_  
“I _said_ I’m not doing it.” He started to shift Louis up and away to get out of the bed to prove his point.  
  
“Alright, alright.” Niall quickly dropped to sit on the edge of the bed next to Louis’s legs, pressing a hand against Louis’ sternum and pushing him back against Harry to stop Harry from moving. “I’ll do it then.”  
  
“Why won’t you do it?” Liam questioned, like he couldn’t help himself. He probably couldn’t.  
  
His reaction had probably been a bit much, but he didn’t regret it. He did stop trying to move though, settling back again with Louis so that Niall could take Louis’s left hand with his right, since he was the only left-handed one of them. He studied Louis's fingers, trying to decide which one to prick.  
  
“Have you ever given blood before?” Harry asked as Liam picked up Louis’s waiting mug of tea from the dresser and brought it over next to Niall, within reach of Louis’s hand. “Giving the blood is nothing compared to when they prick your finger to check your iron levels.”  
  
Judging from the looks on their faces, no, none of them had. Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“I’m finding us the nearest and next blood drive. NHS always needs blood, you know.”  
  
The three of them were all looking at him with odd smiles on their faces but he didn’t care.  
  
“Alright, Haz. You just tell us when.” Zayn's smile grew a bit, bordered on a smirk. “We’ll do it.”  
  
“And you do realize Tommo can’t feel it right now, right?” Niall asked, holding Louis’s ring finger at the ready but pausing to look up at Harry.  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Harry tightened his hold on Louis with one arm so he could wave his other around. “I can’t do it to myself, so I won’t do it to anyone else.”  
  
“And you wonder why we don’t believe you when you threaten us with murder.” Niall rolled his eyes but gave Harry a pointed glance, trying to suppress the tiniest of smiles at the same time.  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“I have other ways to threaten you lot anyway.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Niall didn’t look up at that, but he sounded so very very scared. “Christ you’re cold, Tommo,” he mumbled, then chewed on his lip a moment. He hovered the point of the pin over the pad of Louis’s finger before pressing it down, slowly, then dipping it in a little more until the skin broke.  
  
Harry winced, his arms tightened instinctively around Louis’s waist to say sorry for a pain Louis couldn’t even feel and probably could handle if he could feel it.  
  
Louis snorted quietly.  
  
 _You’re really something else, pumpkin._ _  
_  
No, he was pretty sure he was just Harry.  
  
 _There’s definitely no ‘just’ about you, Hazza._ _  
_  
Niall pulled back, holding the pin at the ready while he squeezed a bit at Louis’s finger. A drop of blood welled up.  
  
Liam handed Niall the mug and Niall dipped Louis’s finger into it and gave it a swirl, just enough to wash the blood away. Handing the mug back to Liam, he checked that Louis’s finger wasn’t still bleeding before setting it back in Louis’s lap and holding his hand out to Harry.  
  
“Your turn, mate.”  
  
He’d never say no, but—  
  
“I want it known that none of this was in my contract.”  
  
 _You’ve said that enough this weekend so obviously you didn’t read the contract at all, Haz._ _  
_  
Harry set his left hand in Niall’s right, studiously looking away by looking down at Louis, since Louis was the last one to speak to him.  
  
“Did too. That’s how I know none of this was in it.”  
  
 _Course it was, under ‘you’ll be giving us all your blood, sweat, and tears.’ More than you ever thought you’d have to fucking give. And then more than that._ _  
_  
He’d already done two of those this weekend. Might as well make it three. He frowned at something in Louis’s tone but the pinch and pain as Niall broke the skin and brought his hand to the mug of tea stole his attention. Louis's tea was hardly hot anymore, more of a lukewarm bordering on cold. Harry glanced up only because he saw a flash, like the light from the window behind Liam had shone just so over the liquid.  
  
“I’m still renegotiating when this is all over.”  
  
None of them were listening anyway.  
  
“Woah,” Niall breathed, Liam staring into the cup with him until Zayn stood up and came over to see what was going on. But he’d already missed that flash. Harry was less surprised mostly because he A) was focused on Louis and 2) had seen it already before in Louis’s memory.  
  
“Well, if we do this right, this’ll all be over soon,” Zayn finally said. Apparently he had been listening. He tore his gaze from the mug when it was obvious it was just tea, “and you’ll be able to renegotiate to your ‘too-tender-to-prick-a-finger’ heart’s content.”  
  
His wee creature was far too tender to ever prick a finger. Harry couldn’t deny that.  
  
 _Did you just call your heart a creature?_ _  
_  
“Just you wait until they prick yours, then you’ll see,” Harry muttered, specifically not answering Louis. Pulling his hand back to stare at his left ring finger, he pushed it between his lips, running his tongue over the pinprick to soothe the lingering pinch and lick away the last bit of blood welling up. And lick away the tea. That was a strange combination.  
  
“Looking forward to it, Haz.” Now it was Zayn’s turn to seem unaffected. He’d understand just how much of a threat that was eventually though, Harry was sure of it.  
  
“So are we doing this?” Niall asked, looking from the mug in his hand to Louis and then around at each of them.  
  
Liam turned back to the desk and pulled the chair back over to the spot it’d been in next to the bed most of the weekend.  
  
“Here, I’ll do it.” Zayn held out a hand towards Niall for the mug, though he was studying Louis, already trying to figure out the best way to go about this.  
  
“You sure?” Liam asked as Niall handed the mug to Zayn. Zayn took it with a nod.  
  
“I’ve read the most about it. Might as well be me. And I could do with having a huge favour from Tommo stored for safekeeping.”  
  
 _What makes you think you’ll be getting any favours from me?_ _  
_  
“You owe us all so many fucking favours when this is all over with,” Harry pointed out, unable to stifle an incredulous laugh.  
  
Liam stepped aside and offered the chair to Zayn but Zayn just shook his head and came around to the other side of the bed. He climbed carefully up without spilling the tea, settling further up than Niall but to the right, near Louis’s hips.  
  
Harry started to shift Louis back down so he could get out of the way and give Zayn room.  
  
“What’re you doing?”  
  
He paused at Zayn’s question, nose scrunching up. This was the third time he’d tried to lay Louis back down and been stopped. It was starting to become a pattern. He’d better keep an eye on Liam, because he must be next, the only one who hadn’t stopped him yet. Conniving burpee bastard must be waiting for something.  
  
Louis was snickering in his head and Harry wasn’t sure to what. But Zayn was still looking at him and when it became clear that Zayn was actually asking a question that he thought was valid and didn’t already have an obvious answer, Harry finally said, “Lying him down?”  
  
Now with his free hand Zayn was rubbing at his forehead like he didn’t honestly believe Harry had just given that answer, asking for someone to grant him patience. Finally he said, like he couldn’t believe it needed to be said, “We can’t do this with him lying down. Gravity, remember?”  
  
 _You know, he may be a wanker, but I am impressed with his control. Did you hear the ‘you bloody idiot’ on the end of that too or was that just me?_ _  
_  
Harry rolled his eyes and bumped his forehead against Louis's out of instinct since his hands were full.  
  
“He didn’t say that because he didn’t want to. He likes me more, remember?” Harry said that out loud so that Zayn knew the eye-roll wasn’t for him. To Zayn he said, “Fine. Just hold on a tick. I can’t feel my feet anymore.”  
  
 _Funny that. Neither can I. Reckon if I tried to play footie right now I’d look like you._ _  
_  
Rolling his eyes yet again, Harry let go of Louis long enough to dig his hands into the bed and lift himself up again so he could pry his feet out from beneath his bum and stretch them back out without knocking Louis off his chest. He had to squeeze his left leg between Louis’s leg and Niall, but Zayn was too close for him to do the same with his right, so he brought his foot over the spot where Zayn and Louis were basically connected but left it bent up, since there was no space for his thigh between them. He leaned back against the headboard now because it was more comfortable in this new position, resting Louis back against him in turn so his head slid down from Harry’s shoulder to his chest.  
  
Zayn looked at Harry’s bent knee which was almost right in his own chest and started rubbing at his temple again.  
  
“Not like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“You have to shift that.”  
  
“Shift what?”  
  
“Your _leg_. It’s in the way.”  
  
“Well where do you want me to put it?”  
  
“I don’t care. Just put it somewhere else so it’s not in the way.”  
  
“Where? It’s not like I can just detach it you know.”  
  
“Really? That’s funny, considering half the time you walk like they’re about to detach.”  
  
Louis was outright laughing in his head now and it was a bit distracting, but Harry had a feeling if he stopped laughing, Niall and Liam’s barely-suppressed snickers would be just as distracting.  
  
“Well you’re in the way. Budge over so I can straighten it out.”  
  
“I can’t. I’ll be too far away then.”  
  
Harry groaned, thunked his head back against the headboard and slid his foot under the duvet. Wriggling his big toe under Louis’s thigh to lift his leg enough, he then leaned over with Louis and, under the duvet, caught Louis’s leg by his pyjamas and lifted it up enough to squiggle his foot sideways beneath both of Louis’s thighs, crossing his leg beneath Louis to get it out of the way.  
  
Now he had one leg bent, one straight, one under the duvet, one above, Louis’s bum mostly on the bed and cradled in the space Harry's bent leg created between his hips and his calf. Most of his thigh was behind Zayn now.  
  
Zayn held the mug up the whole time like some entitled twat, like he was being careful with it so Harry wouldn’t jostle it as much as he was jostling Zayn, but his leg was finally out of Zayn’s way. Zayn’s bent leg was sort of slotted by Harry and Louis at the same time, the back of Harry’s knee right at Zayn’s tailbone.  
  
“It’s like fucking human Tetris,” Niall snickered to Liam.  
  
Harry finally sank back against the headboard and crossed his arms over Louis’s chest since he couldn’t reach his own.  
  
“There. Better?”  
  
Zayn brought the cup back down to a normal level.  
  
“Almost. Now sit back up.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
It was Zayn’s turn to groan and he threw his free hand towards the two of them.  
  
“Gravity, remember? He’s leaned too far back now. It won’t work.”  
  
Niall nearly fell off the bed with a loud burst of laughter. Liam bent in half, bracing a hand on the chair in case his legs gave out with his own laughter and Harry wasn’t sure if Louis had even _stopped_ laughing to begin with.  
  
Harry huffed and dropped his arms to grip Louis around the waist instead, sitting him a little more securely in the curve of his leg. He used his calf to keep Louis in place so he could sit them both back up again and straighten his spine like some 1800s rich lady or the Queen or something. Clearly Zayn’s demands could be just as exorbitant as Louis’s. Wankers.  
  
“Honestly, Harry, with how many backwards hugs you give, you’d think you’d know how to hold Tommo by now,” Liam finally couldn’t hold back, earning him a dirty glare from Harry.  
  
“Is this why you prefer the little spoon then?” Niall quipped, face completely lit up with held back laughter.  
  
“I _do_ know how to hold him. Spent enough time doing it this weekend already. _Obviously_ this is different,” Harry grumped, finally pulling Louis back against his chest and settling his arms around him to keep Louis in place upright against him. Zayn’s dark eyes followed Harry's movements the entire time he shifted Louis like he was directing a fucking play. Harry finally stilled and shot Zayn another look.  
  
“Happy?”  
  
“Other shoulder.”  
  
“Jesus,” Harry breathed, as that sent Niall, Liam, and Louis into fresh rounds of laughter. “ _Why_?” he griped, even as he did as Zayn asked and carefully shifted Louis against his chest yet again, this time so Louis's head was resting against his right shoulder, not his left.  
  
And then a little further up on his shoulder when Zayn started _motioning_ with his hand because he actually thought he was conducting a fucking orchestra. Niall had to grab onto Louis’s leg and Liam to keep himself from rolling straight off the bed.  
  
“Because I’m right-handed and someone forgot the fucking bib,” Zayn muttered, only half-paying attention to what he was saying now. He was watching Harry get Louis high enough on his shoulder so his head was tipped slightly back, holding the cup at the ready.  
  
That comment finally had Louis’s laughter stopping because he had far more important things to say now.  
  
 _Fucking wanker._ _  
_  
Harry couldn’t stop a smile at that, especially because he was finally not the centre of the joke. Once again he didn’t repeat it though. Harry finally got Louis exactly where Zayn wanted him, forced to have one arm wrapped around Louis’s middle and the other snaked over his chest to keep Louis clutched against him like a rich lady clutching her pearls. Seated this upright Louis would no doubt fold forward right over himself if Harry let go.  
  
“Now just keep him steady, ok?”  
  
“And now you want me to keep him steady,” Harry muttered. Then he followed through because _why the fuck not?_ and cocked an eyebrow at Zayn, incredulous. “Have you seen the way he moves?”  
  
Zayn cocked an eyebrow right back at Harry, silently telling Harry to think about what he’d just said. But out loud he said, “You’re right. He’s obviously a lot steadier than you—" he swept the hand with the mug in a circle over Louis’s lap, like he was pointing to Harry’s legs or how still Louis was or something ridiculous like that, “—so if I’m asking _you_ to do it clearly there’s a lot of fucking magic at work here.”  
  
“You are such a—"  
  
 _Wanker. Wanker. Say it. Say it say it say it._ _  
_  
While Liam and Niall were laughing again, Harry sucked in a deep, deep, deep, deeeeeeep, breath through his nose.  
  
Held it.  
  
Then pasted a fake smile on his face and fluttered his eyelashes at Zayn.  
  
“—wonderful, caring, kind mate.”  
  
Louis groaned.  
  
 _HARRY._ _  
_  
Harry’s grin widened, even as Zayn smirked and held up the cup as though to remind Harry what he was about to do.  
  
“Clearly. Now don’t let him go.”  
  
And then after _all that_ , wanker Zayn bloody _changed positions_ and sat up on his knees so he was more hovering over Louis’s face now.  
  
Unbelievable.  
  
If they didn’t need his exotic arse to sing all the descants in their songs Harry was quite certain he might very very seriously _think_ about strangling him.  
  
Zayn pressed his lips together in concentration, eyes sweeping Louis’s face like he was going over his plan one more time. Then he nudged at Louis’s bottom lip with his thumb until he got Louis’s mouth open enough for him to tip the tiniest bit of the liquid in without spilling.  
  
 _Mm... cold and bloody, the perfect fucking cuppa_ , Louis drawled, voice completely clear. Because unlike every other time he spoke with his mouth full-  
  
Actually he’d never tried to speak with his mouth full of just liquid before, so.  
  
Milky cereal, yes. Just tea? No.  
  
So no comparison there. This whole weekend really had no comparison.  
  
Harry also secretly hoped that if Louis ever did try to speak with his mouth full of liquid, it would be because he forgot he was meant to be singing during a performance and had his mouth full of water when he started singing his part on instinct. Then he’d end up dribbling it all over himself, trying to swallow and wipe his mouth at the same time and it would all be picked up by his mic and the jumbo camera so the entire crowd could watch him forget how to drink water in high definition and surround sound. Now _that_ image was quite brilliant.  
  
And Louis couldn’t see that whole dream either. Double brilliant.  
  
Probably would never happen though. Pity.  
  
 _What would never happen?_ _  
  
”Nothing. Just drink your tea.”  
_  
Surprisingly, Louis didn’t argue. Harry didn’t speak out loud. Even if Zayn was a wanker, Harry didn’t want to knock his concentration. He might’ve been holding his breath a bit too, anxiously praying this would work.  
  
Zayn pulled the cup back, hovering it near Louis’s lips.  
  
Louis didn’t start choking, so that was a good sign, right?  
  
But judging by the looks on the others’ faces, he didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.  
  
Not so good.  
  
“Gotta be difficult, don’t you, Tommo,” Liam mumbled from the chair. He didn't mean for it to be heard, but Harry heard it anyway.  
  
 _”Clearly it’s in me nature.”_ _  
_  
Zayn slid his hand between Louis’s head and Harry’s shoulder and cupped the back of Louis’s neck. He tipped Louis's head back a bit more against Harry to see if that would make Louis swallow. Harry couldn’t see Louis’s throat that well from his position, but he knew the other three were watching for it.  
  
When still nothing happened Zayn pressed his lips together, then smoothed the same thumb carefully down the line of Louis’s throat. The movement was as deft as if he were making the final stroke of a paintbrush on a finished masterpiece, urging Louis’s throat to relax and his reflexes to kick in so he would automatically swallow the liquid.  
  
 _Oh c’mon, mate, I know you can do better than that if you want me to swallow. Harder, Z, harder._ _  
_  
Harry hadn’t been expecting to know when it happened, but with his lips this close to Harry’s ear, Harry heard Louis swallow after the third stroke of Zayn’s thumb, which was right after that comment.  
  
Zayn pushed out a breath of relief in time with Harry clearing his throat and tightening his arms around Louis. Not that Louis would notice, but he also hoped the others wouldn’t—  
  
Nope, Liam’s eyes flicked from Louis’s face down to Harry's arms.  
  
Harry was _definitely_ not repeating that for Zayn right now.  
  
 _Bloody killjoy you are. You never tell him anything I say._ _  
  
”You can tell him yourself. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”  
_  
They’d all love to hear Louis’s voice, Liam had even admitted to that. Out loud. _To_ Louis.  
  
 _Mm, he did, didn’t he. Just you wait, Payno. I’m coming for you._ _  
_  
Liam didn’t deserve to hear that warning. Conniving burpee bastard deserved whatever was coming to him.  
  
Zayn tipped the cup back to Louis’s lips, this time pouring in a small amount of tea and stroking down his throat at the same time like he’d found the right place and pressure to get him to swallow.  
  
And Louis did. He swallowed and Zayn kept repeating the motion with careful pauses in between until around half of the cup, about a double-shot worth of tea, was gone.  
  
Something shifted.  
  
Harry frowned. It felt the way he had waking up from the dream they’d had here in the flat, when he’d closed his eyes by the sofa with Louis and woke up alone on Louis’s bed. But his eyes were open and he hadn’t moved. Yet something shifted and he didn’t know what. Or where. Or why.  
  
“Think that’s enough?” Zayn sat back on his heels, still holding the cup but watching Louis and Harry in turn, gaze lingering on Harry. Harry figured he must be making a face, because Zayn was frowning now too. “What? What is it?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry couldn’t explain it. He felt...different. He felt like he was...alone.  
  
The word sprung up unbidden and he opened his mouth again to try and explain, but Louis let out a quiet breath right then - just like the one he’d made when Harry had woken up from his nightmare - and moved. He relaxed, also just like after the nightmare, but this time he sank down against Harry instead of the bed. His head slowly lolled to the side until his forehead came to rest against Harry’s neck, so close that Harry could feel the wisp of his eyelashes on his skin. Harry couldn’t see Louis's face anymore from this angle but his heart bloomed open in anxious hope before he could stop it.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
Louis didn’t answer. He didn’t move and he didn’t answer.  
  
Harry tried again, both out loud and in his mind, only to be met with silence. He looked up at the other three and shook his head, quelling the panic that wanted to rise.  
  
Zayn reached again for Louis and turned his face back out of Harry’s neck, all of them watching Louis closely now.  
  
“I think it’s working. Fucking hell, I think it’s working,” Niall breathed, rubbing a hand straight down his face in utter relief.  
  
It felt like magic. It _looked_ like magic. The time after the nightmare except in reverse, the colour blossomed back into Louis’s cheeks, his lips no longer that ghastly blue-purple but back to a natural shade of pink.  
  
Something let go in Harry’s chest.  
  
“Fuck,” Liam followed right after Niall with his relief.  
  
“Tommo?” Niall called carefully while Zayn was still holding Louis’s face out of Harry's neck with his free hand, watching closely.  
  
Harry shrugged his shoulder to bump Louis’s head, squeezed him a bit and added, “Lou?”  
  
Louis didn’t react.  
  
“Now what?” Liam asked, clearly not sure he wanted an answer to that.  
  
“I think he’s getting warmer." Zayn's hand fell from Louis’s face to his neck to check. He gazed from Harry and Louis to Liam and Niall, the relief obvious on his face. “He might actually just be sleeping now.”  
  
“You taking the fucking mick?” Niall asked, though from his tone he may be asking the universe more than Zayn. “After all this and he’s got to bunk off and have a fucking kip now too?”  
  
When Zayn pulled back all the way to set the cup on the bedside table, Harry leaned against the headboard so he could better see Louis’s face when his head slid back down to Harry’s chest. He shook his shoulder again and patted Louis’s cheek a little harder than Zayn had. He knew how deep a sleeper Louis could be. Louis’s head just lolled back into his chest the moment he stopped.  
  
“Maybe he’s still finding his way back?” Harry couldn’t help but think of all the times this weekend it’d taken Louis so much longer to come back after he’d woken up, including this last time. He cast his mind back again to the moment Cassie had written out the ...cure?...spell?..recipe? and handed it to Louis. “She did say to sleep it off, so...”  
  
“So now he sleeps and we wait? Great.” Niall dug into the bag of Doritos that was still within arm’s reach and shockingly not empty yet and shoved one into his mouth, muttering with his mouth full, “bloody Yorkies.”

Zayn arched an eyebrow at Niall for that.  
  
“I fucking swear, if he gets lost again coming back I’m buying one of those GPS dog-tracking devices and drilling it into him,” Liam grumbled, sagging back in the chair next to the bed.  
  
“You know, that may not be such a bad idea,” Niall mused after he swallowed, drawing their attention. A slow smile was spreading across Niall’s face and he put the next crisp in his mouth far more happily.  
  
“Well, ropes obviously won’t work." He waved his hand then dunked it in the bag again, talking with his mouth full. “And we can’t always rely on Haz to know where he is, yea? So if Tommo's gonna wade straight into the bloody ocean by threatening us all with no sleep for the rest of tour, we’ll have to just get our own fucking urchin now won’t we, lads.”  
  
Niall wiggled his eyebrows and slow grins spread over Zayn’s and Liam’s faces as they both caught on. Harry almost, almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t manage more than a small smile. He still couldn’t shake the feeling, the unexpected loneliness that, now that Louis was gone from his mind, was steamrolling over him in waves. Niall still took his smile as a sign of approval from all of them and nodded, pulling out his phone to make a note. “Fear not. I’m on it.”  
  
“I’d like to see him try sneaking up on us this time.” Liam was definitely not grumbling so much anymore.  
  
“Are we taking bets then on how long it takes him to figure it out?” Zayn shifted to sit properly on the bed now, right in the centre.  
  
“As if we’d do anything less,” Niall snorted, thumbs flying over the keyboard on his phone. He paused long enough to jerk a thumb at Liam without looking up from his phone. “Payno, you’re in charge of that.”  
  
“Why can’t I be in charge of that?” Harry tried not to pout, forcing himself to speak up and be a part of the conversation even though he felt so out of sorts, the way he had waking up from the dozing dream before the show last year.  
  
Zayn laughed at the absurdity of that idea.  
  
“Because we want Tommo to _not_ find out.”  
  
“You can’t keep anything from him to save your life, Haz,” Liam added. “You can be in charge of getting it on him each time, how’s that.”  
  
Well. Well. But.  
  
Alright, Harry really couldn’t deny either of those. So he just said, “Fine.”  
  
He did have the most access to Louis’s clothes, so it was probably a better role for him anyway.  
  
Besides, his complete inability to keep things from Louis had definitely been proven ten times over this weekend. His little creature was still curled up in the back of his chest, too afraid to peek out and face anything quite yet. But this unexpected loneliness from Louis suddenly not being there in his mind was taking him so completely by surprise. It slid past the cattleprod his heart was still brandishing, lodged in his chest and expanded, holding the gates of his ribs open for all the emotions he hadn’t been allowing himself to feel because he wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared.  
  
He wasn’t ready at all for the familiar devastation steadily picking him apart now, prying at his ribs and lunging for his heart while his wee creature was still so tender and Louis was still in his arms and—  
  
Louis was still in his arms.  
  
He looked down. Louis looked so peaceful, just resting, like he was trusting enough in the arms holding him that he completely let his guard down enough to sleep. Like Harry had been deemed strong enough to hold the fucking sun in his arms.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Louis was in his arms. _Sleeping_.  
  
Harry was leaned back enough to be his bed and suddenly every single sense flooded and narrowed down to Louis asleep _in his arms_ : his cheek against Harry's bare chest, warming up but still so cold, the whisper of air against his skin as Louis breathed and the scratch of stubble on Louis’s jaw. Harry’s hands were still wrapped around him same as before, his palm still pressed flat to Louis’s chest. He could feel the slow beat of Louis's heart beneath his skin and Louis’s body rising and falling against him with his breathing. Even his bent leg was cradling Louis close. He was so very close and so very beautiful and so very precious to Harry and holding him just like this felt so right, so very perfect, like it could be like this, like it _should_ be like this if only Louis felt the same and wanted it too and—  
  
His own warmth suddenly drained away as his heart plummeted.  
  
If Louis had feelings for him, they were feelings that Louis didn’t want to have.  
  
Louis was right here, _in his arms_ , and in three years and even over this entire weekend, Louis had never felt further away from him than right now.  
  
“Everything alright, Haz?” Liam asked.  
  
Harry shook his head, had trouble swallowing.  
  
“Yea. Yea, course.” The words came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.  
  
Louis didn’t choose this. He chose the curse, but he never chose this. He specifically didn’t choose this. He’d allowed Harry to hold him for everything else, his reflex, his finger, the tea... but he didn’t choose this. Here he was, asleep against Harry in a way that Harry had never imagined, even when he’d let his mind run away with daydreams, long before he’d forced himself to stop so it wouldn’t show on his face and cause people to ask more questions and make more comments and hurt Louis more. They fell asleep tangled together all the time, but he’d never imagined a moment quite like this: quiet, soft, still, so simple yet so intimate.  
  
“What? Harry, what is it?”  
  
He used to daydream about being the one that Louis loved, but never where he got to be the one who got to hold Louis _like this_ while he slept.  
  
And then he could hear it so clearly, like Louis was still in his mind, still hearing his thoughts, or standing behind him in the nightmare, voice a dark mutter whispered right into his ear.

 _Not like I have a fucking choice._  
  
“Harry, what’s—"  
  
He was going to be sick. Something more than his heart was lodging up in his throat dangerously close to _his_ gag reflex and he jerked his arms away from Louis because he’d once more strayed too close to his sun flare and gotten burned again. Barely able to lay Louis down rather than just let him go, he crawled out from beneath him, threw himself off the bed and raced from the room.


	21. Chapter 21

  
Harry didn’t think he was actually going to vomit, that would be rather dramatic, but he needed to do something to escape from the utter mess of emotions quickly overwhelming him through the hole that loneliness had gouged open in his chest. He rushed through the living room and shoved the sliding door to the balcony open. The cold February air sliced across his bare chest, where Louis had been sleeping moments ago and Harry could still feel the ghost of him. He dragged in a sharp breath as the shock of cold warred with the muscle memory of Louis. He couldn’t escape.  
  
Word. Word. He had a word. What word. Words.  
  
 _Queue_. French. Stupid fucking pronunciation. Had to be a king. A French King. The Sunshine king.  
  
Louis.  
  
 _Colonel_. An arsehole leading an army of even smaller arseholes. A little corn pop. Corn Pops. Coco Pops.  
  
Louis.  
  
He choked back a tiny sob. It didn’t work; the sob came out anyway. The chill seeped up through the ground through his bare feet, crept steadily up his legs.  
  
 _Synecdoche_. Necks, that precious sinful spot on the neck, on his neck. You really do fucking think necks are sinful, don’t you.  
  
Louis.  
  
 _Lascivious_. Vicious. Love is vicious. Who taught you that? Doesn’t matter. No one. No one taught him that. He learned all by himself.  
  
Louis.  
  
“Fuck,” he gasped, gripping at the railing and bending in half so his arms were straight out by his face. He stared at the ground, dropped his head, forced himself to drag in three deep breaths only through his nose. He couldn’t even remember the rest of his list now.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept whispering instead, each one wetter than the last as the tears welled up, missed his cheeks and followed the sure line of gravity down. Down, down, always down, crashing against the cement of the balcony.  
  
He needed more time. Once again he was reminded just how little he felt in dreams compared to real life. Everything he felt in the last dream was welling back up again, but if he’d thought it had hurt then, it was agony now, all needle points and razor edges.  
  
He needed more time to come to grips with it. He needed more time. He couldn’t handle feeling all of this at once. He’d prepared himself for years now only to find he wasn’t prepared at all. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t even breathe anymore.  
  
“Please. Please fucking stop,” he whispered as more tears fell. He didn’t know who he was even talking to: himself, his heart, God, the world, Louis, anyone who would listen... “Fuck, I can’t—...I can’t—...”  
  
A warm palm touched down on his back—no pressure—startling him just enough to knock him from the swirling drain of his thoughts that were quickly drowning him. But not enough to startle him out of his pose. Sucking in a breath, he looked under his right arm at the bottom half of Zayn coming to stand next to him at the railing.  
  
Zayn didn’t say anything, just tossed a shirt over the railing and leaned against it, looking out over the London skyline. He was close enough to Harry that one of his elbows touched Harry’s hand where it was still clenched around the metal. He had both hands curved around his pack of cigs, like he’d just come out here for a smoke.  
  
Their balcony wasn’t large. He and Louis had opted to spend more money on the internal footage of their flat, on two bedrooms both with en-suite bathrooms and a guest bedroom for their families or the lads. The balcony was just large enough to be outside if they wanted to go outside, for a smoke, for fresh air, just large enough for Harry to have a place to figuratively throw every emotion straight over the side to the ground below.  
  
The emotions clawing at his ribs and puncturing his lungs weren’t letting go though. Harry tried to take another deep breath and tipped his head to look up at Zayn around his right arm, taking full advantage of the distraction Zayn was giving him.  
  
Zayn hadn’t styled his hair today; it still had that ‘just woke up’ vibe even though it was well into the afternoon now. Unlike Harry, he was wearing his black hoodie with the grey inside the hood now, a little more (a lot more) dressed for the February weather.  
  
For the next several minutes Harry closed his eyes, focused on breathing and just knowing that he wasn’t out here alone. It was strange how watching something so normal could dispel even the harshest of terrors enough to remind you that the world wasn’t ending. The world couldn’t be ending if Zayn was calmly leaned against the railing, right?  
  
Harry slowly straightened back up next to Zayn. Zayn took that as a cue of some sort, finally moving when Harry did. He rustled the pack of smokes in his hand and pulled one out, pausing long enough to hold it, long enough for Harry to give him a nod.  
  
Harry’s face was all wet, streaked with tears he wouldn’t brush away, but Zayn’s action still pulled a smile onto Harry’s lips automatically. Ever since the lads had found out at the Bungalow during X-Factor about his asthma and that cigarette smoke could be a trigger, Zayn always asked before lighting up around Harry if Harry had been there first. His asthma was so controlled he couldn’t remember the last time it had flared up and it had never once flared because of Zayn’s or Louis’ smoking, but Zayn still did it anyway.  
  
So Harry gave him the nod and Zayn tucked the pack back in the pocket of his hoodie, pulled out his lighter—a cheap plastic black one—and lit up.  
  
No fancy silver Zippos here.  
  
He dragged the smoke in, tipped his head back, slowly pushed the smoke out into the clear-ish London air.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
At Harry’s declaration, Zayn glanced at him without turning, gave him only an arched eyebrow in response at first.  
  
“Only you would find a reason to be sorry in all this.”  
  
Probably. He was still sorry though.  
  
“Not usually one to run out of a room like some...” He couldn’t come up with a good quip, so he sighed, hung his head, “...like that.”  
  
“Not usually one to have your best mate trapped in your head all weekend either,” Zayn pointed out, taking another drag and speaking around the smoke of his exhale. “Or for everything to suddenly come out once it’s all over.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, digging his fingers into his temples before dragging them down the drying tear tracks on his cheeks.  
  
Maybe that’s what was happening. It was all over and everything he’d been setting aside to wait to feel until Louis was safe decided it was time to come out. That was the agreement he’d made without thinking, wasn’t it? No feelings until Louis was safe and back in his own body. Well, Louis was back in his own body now so the feelings were coming, whether Harry was ready or not.  
  
“Can’t say I’d know better than you do,” Zayn reflected with a shrug, as though Harry weren’t being rhetorical, “but I imagine spending every moment keeping something secret even from your own thoughts is more exhausting than it looks.” He flicked ash from the tip, flicked his gaze sideways to Harry. “And not really unexpected or some sort of failure when it becomes too much to hide either, is it.”  
  
Leave it to Zayn to know he’d been beating himself up over losing control and just blurting it all out as well. No, blurting was the wrong word. He’d fucking screamed his feelings into Louis’s face like a lunatic, like Louis should have known, like he shouldn’t have had to say it, like he’d been accusing Louis of not understanding just how incredible and important he was.  
  
No wonder Louis hadn’t believed him.  
  
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t even been all that specific with his declaration, but somehow Louis had got what he was saying. Didn’t believe him, but he got it.  
  
Maybe the idea of feelings between them wasn’t all that far-fetched to Louis. Maybe he’d had the thought before himself. Maybe—  
  
“I think he has feelings for me too,” he admitted on a whisper, afraid that saying the words too loudly would send his heart into another tailspin.  
  
Zayn glanced over at him, far less surprised than Harry thought he would be at that. Or maybe not. Harry pushed at his temple again. Fuck. He didn’t even know anymore.  
  
“Did he tell you that?”  
  
Harry shook his head, and nodded, and shrugged, and mumbled, “Not in so many words.”  
  
Zayn scratched at the corner of his lips with a thumbnail before pulling in another drag.  
  
“But you’re upset about it. That he might feel the same way you do.”  
  
“No! Fuck. No, I—” Harry shoved his hands through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest against the February chill. Zayn nudged at the shirt still hanging over the railing. “He doesn’t want to have them. To have feelings for me.” He swallowed. “Like they’re some sort of obligation, something management would make us do to sell more tickets or something. Like—”

He swallowed again, but this time the lump didn’t go away, so he stopped and snatched up the shirt and jerked it over his head. Shoving his arms through the sleeves punched the lump out of his throat and dislodged the bitter words stuck behind it.

“He cares more about proving the rest of the fucking world wrong than thinking that maybe we could have something. Fuck.”  
  
“Not really surprised by that last bit.” Zayn flicked more ash off his cigarette. If he noticed Harry’s agitation, it didn’t show in his tone or actions.  
  
Zayn may not be surprised, but Harry sure as fuck was by that.  
  
“What?”  
  
Zayn shrugged.  
  
“Harry, the two of you are as competitive as they come, especially with each other and when it comes to each other. Even so, when has Tommo ever done anything simply because someone asked him to do it?” He gave Harry a sideways glance, complete with a raised eyebrow. “And when he doesn’t, has asking and asking and asking ever done anything but make him dig his heels in?”  
  
Harry didn’t have a response for that. Zayn wasn’t wrong. They were competitive and he knew Louis would be contrary simply to be contrary sometimes too, a fit and famous blue-eyed and golden-tongued devil’s advocate refusing to be boxed. Well, who would be thick enough to try and box up the sun anyway?  
  
But surely that wasn’t...Louis wouldn’t...not with something like this...would he?  
  
“Did you ever actually ask him how he felt?” Zayn asked curiously but not curiously at all, like he was simply imitating curiousity. “Before you told him last night, I mean.” He turned sideways so he was leaning on one elbow on the railing, facing Harry fully now, transferring the fag to his left hand when he did so.  
  
Zayn knew the answer to that question, so Harry wasn’t quite sure why he was asking it now. He didn’t even wait for Harry to answer either, waited just long enough for the question to sink in before saying, “Exactly.”  
  
Wait, what? What?  
  
“I didn’t need to ask him. How many years has he spent denying it now? Last thing he needed was for me to be doubting him like the rest of the world.”  
  
Zayn was looking at him like Harry should have heard the answer in what he’d just said. Zayn did that a lot, actually.  
  
“So instead you just assumed how he felt...like the rest of the world?”  
  
Oh no. Oh. Oh fuck no.  
  
He reeled, actually needed to grab onto the railing as those words sank in with all the force of a jagged brick slapping him across the face. Zayn just stood there watching him, giving him an already-decided-upon allotted amount of time to get his bearings after crash-landing on this brand new planet. Like he hadn’t just figuratively launched Harry straight over the balcony. He may as well have. Smashing face-first into the concrete down below would actually be easier to handle.  
  
“I know you _want_ it, but is there anything going on between you? Has there ever been?” Zayn asked, apparently because said allotted amount of time was up.  
  
Again with asking something he already knew. As much as Harry wished there were something between them, all he could do was shake his head.  
  
“So every time Louis says no to those questions in interviews...is he lying? Denying?”  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. Fuck.  
  
Zayn nodded, pushed out a breath through his nose then turned away just enough to blow out the smoke from the side of his mouth and not into Harry’s face, watching him silently.  
  
“So do you think he...?” Harry didn’t have a single room left in the fucking dilapidated and now-too-lonely-without-Louis mansion of his mind to care about how strained that came out when he finally found his voice again.  
  
Zayn took another drag, checked how much he had left of his cigarette before speaking, the smoke curling out of his mouth.  
  
“I can’t speak for Tommo. None of us can, or should. We’ve all got enough fucking people putting words in our mouths already. I may have my suspicions that you aren’t the only one who feels something, but why would _my_ feelings about _his_ feelings matter?”  
  
He managed to get in one more drag before searching for the ashtray. He pulled it across the railing and squished out the butt of his fag, half-eyeing Harry as he did so. He absolutely wasn’t wrong and Harry knew better than to take Zayn’s words as Louis’s, but that didn’t mean he didn’t value Zayn’s opinion.  
  
“But, just...what do you think anyway?”  
  
Zayn sighed, still rolling the butt of the fag between his thumb and first finger even though it was out.  
  
“You told him how you feel about him in the middle of a magical, cursed nightmare, didn’t you? Reckon you may have blindsided him when you admitted it. He’s never said anything to me. Maybe he’s never talked about it to anyone. Maybe he didn’t even realize it. But if I know anything about Tommo, if he does feel something back, I can’t imagine he’d say no to feeling something like that for you without a damn good reason. If he ever did say no.” Zayn paused where he was now swirling old ash in the tray with the blunt tip of the fag, looked up at him, studying him. “Did he ever say no?”  
  
Harry shook his head, distantly thinking that saying ‘no’ out loud would sound too ironic right now.  
  
Louis hadn’t said no. For all that he had argued and yelled and doubted how Harry felt, Louis had never once said he _didn’t_ feel anything. Said, _how we feel about each other_ , said _I don’t fucking know_ , said nothing at all, actually just stood there and _took it_ when Harry had all but screamed at him in the middle of the stage this last dream, but all of those were _not_ a no. Louis had never once specifically said no.  
  
He and Louis had too much fun with wordplay for that to not be deliberate. Well, maybe unintentional, but that still had to mean something. Harry pushed out a shaky breath, his sweet creature starting to unwind a little from its fetal position in his chest. Maybe it could keep beating, maybe he could do this, whatever _this_ even was.  
  
“So what should I do?”  
  
“What you’ve always done.” Zayn shrugged again, like that was the easiest question in the world. The action for some reason reminded Harry of Niall’s comment about bird shit. “He’s your best mate, right? You’ve told me time and time over that you don’t ever want to lose that and that’s why you never told him how you feel. So be his best mate right now.”  
  
Hadn’t Harry told himself the exact same thing after he’d screamed at Louis there on the stage? He’d done it before. He’d been doing it for years. He could do that now. Louis didn’t have to reciprocate his feelings for Harry to love him all the same. That would never change.  
  
Zayn pushed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.  
  
“I expect this hasn’t been the easiest weekend for him either. Could probably do with some being normal again when he wakes up. Give him some time, but talk to him. Let him tell you how he feels.” He reached out and squeezed Harry’s arm then, offering him a smile. “What’ll happen will happen. But working yourself up by putting words in his mouth is only going to hurt you both.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, chuckled a bit breathlessly, mostly because he laughed after his exhale before inhaling again. He dropped his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, tucked under his arm to leech some of his warmth and wished that some of Zayn’s obvious brilliance would spill over into him.  
  
“Think my nightmare was on to something with you.”  
  
Zayn wrapped his arm around Harry’s back, squeezing hard enough and long enough until Harry gave in and released all the tension in his shoulders.  
  
“Someone’s got to do the hard work, right?” For a few minutes neither of them moved, but then he squeezed Harry’s bicep and nodded behind them. “I’m going to head in. If Tommo wakes up and we aren’t all there waiting for him like servants you know we won’t hear the end of it.”  
  
Harry’s chuckle was far less breathless this time. He nodded, reluctantly pulling away and leaning back over the railing after Zayn disappeared inside with one more squeeze to his shoulder.  
  
Once the door slid shut, Harry pushed his palms against the railing and dropped back to the half-fold he’d been in before, relishing in the stretch through his shoulders. His lungs weren’t fighting their job of breathing quite so much anymore. He didn’t dare call it hope he was feeling, didn’t trust hope, shied away from hope like the dangerous monster it was. But at least his little creature wasn’t cowering anymore and instead was just curled up, like maybe it could sleep right now, as quietly and peacefully as he’d left Louis sleeping before racing out here like an uncoordinated oaf.  
  
Because yea, now that he had time to think about it, that’s probably exactly what he’d looked like running out of the room earlier.

  
  
  
  
“Finished blowin’ shite up out o’ proportion?” Niall asked with a wink when Harry paused in the doorway to Louis’s bedroom on the way to his own. His heart was quiet now, but his arms were throwing their own tantrum in the form of every hair raised in pebbles of goose flesh from being subjected to the chill outside and were definitely demanding an extra layer now. His tears had dried quickly in the cold too, leaving his skin tight enough that he felt a bit like what he thought a burn victim’s skin might feel like covered in scar tissue.  
  
“Alright?” Liam asked next, equally understanding but far gentler in comparison to Niall’s comment.  
  
Both questions brought the smile to Harry’s face though, a smile he felt far more physically than normal because of said dried tears.  
  
“Yea.” He nodded, taking one more step into the room but hovering near the doorway. “Yea.”  
  
His gaze flicked to the bed. Louis was still lying as he’d left him, but one of the other lads must’ve pulled the duvet up to cover him while Harry was outside.  
  
He looked away.  
  
“I’m going to wash.” He scrubbed at his cheek, knew both of them could see that he’d been crying but neither of them commented because it didn’t matter. “Haven’t cleaned my teeth yet today either. Sure I need to.”  
  
“Being an alien doesn’t help your morning breath any,” Niall quipped, still grinning. “We’ll go help Zayn find us some food. See you out there, yea?”  
  
“You say that like you didn’t just finish an entire bag of Doritos.”  
  
Scandalized, Niall stared at the crumpled bag now on Louis’s bedside table as though it had somehow ratted him out, then looked back to Harry.  
  
“That was at least a quarter of an hour ago, mate.”  
  
“Uh huh.” But Harry just nodded again. “Three days with you here and Lou and I will be lucky if we have any food left.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of Coco Pops,” Liam spoke up, smirking.  
  
“Oh trust me, I know that for certain now. He’s apparently got boxes hidden all over the flat.”  
  
“Are you trying to tell us we should have a scavenger hunt before he wakes up then?” Liam asked, quirking up an eyebrow as his gaze flicked from Louis to Harry.  
  
Harry chuckled and shrugged.  
  
“Could do. I only know where one box is.”  
  
“We’ll search the kitchen while we’re helping Zayn find food then.” Niall nodded towards the door behind Harry, getting up from the bed and reaching for the empty Doritos bag. “Go wash up. Give those dimples of yours a good cleaning, yea? I’m sure they’ll be out plenty once sleeping beauty here wakes up so best make them all nice and shiny now.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes but he nodded, bumped the heel of his hand against the doorframe and made his way into his own room.  
  
The mirror over the sink in his bathroom was still open and he paused in front of it, took a deep breath, then slowly slid it shut.  
  
His dimples could definitely do with a washing, but the only scar tissue he saw as a result of his crying was the red in his eyes. Crying always made them look greener though, or mouthwash. If it burned enough to make his eyes burn, they turned green...er. Greener. He liked that: that something small but good would always come from crying, no matter what. His hair was a bit of a mess right now though, without any help from Louis too. Could do with a spritz of water and a combing back into place.  
  
He waited, then realized he was waiting, waiting for other comments and hearing nothing.  
  
Nothing from the peanut gallery that had been set up two days ago when his mind had become the stage.  
  
The silence sent tendrils of that loneliness curling up from the pit of his stomach and he quickly turned on the tap and splashed warm water onto his cheeks. He felt more human the moment he did, but still made quick work of cleaning his teeth, fixing his hair and having a wee. He didn’t really want to be alone right now and also didn’t want to give that lonely feeling more chances to settle deep into his bones and get comfortable. He’d had enough of feelings for right now. His little creature needed to sleep. He just wanted to focus on what was good, focus on what made him happy.  
  
Louis finally just sleeping because the curse was broken. That made him happy.  
  
Pausing at his dresser for an extra layer to make his bare arms happy too, he thumbed at the grey material of one of his cardigans, remembering once again his purple Jack Wills hoodie folded so neatly in Louis’s bottom drawer. He quickly shoved the thought away and wrenched the cardigan out, throwing it on as he made his way out the door.  
  
He stopped in Louis’s room on his way to the kitchen in order to grab his phone from the right bedside table where he’d placed it last night before falling asleep, before the nightmare that had changed everything. He hadn’t touched it since then and only clicked it on now long enough to check the time - 2:07 - before tucking it into the pocket of his pyjama bottoms.  
  
The room was empty aside from Louis now, which, for the first time all weekend, made perfect sense: Louis asleep in his own bedroom, nothing odd about that.  
  
Harry quickly turned to leave. That unwanted feeling—a guilt like he was taking advantage of something right now—started to well up, but even now, he couldn’t stop himself from turning back to Louis. It was habit, just like he always knew where Louis was, always found him in a crowded room, his eyes always drawn to him like it was inevitable.  
  
It probably was. But he’d accepted that a long time ago and saw no reason to fight it now.  
  
But if he was fighting it, maybe he was resigned to it.  
  
There really was a difference between resignation and acceptance. She was right.  
  
He didn’t know which he was anymore.  
  
Lying on his back, more in the centre of his bed than he’d been all weekend, surrounded by the deep red plush of his duvet, Louis looked, even now, like a king. The bed ought to have a canopy over top of it. He should ask Louis what he thought of bed canopies sometime. Harry had always liked them himself. When he was younger he’d thought of them like a permanent blanket fort and the image had never gone away.  
  
He could only imagine just how blue Louis’s eyes would look if he were completely surrounded by dark red fabric. The flash of an image, of Louis hovering over him as he lay where Louis lay right now came and went before Harry could think to quell it. Even in that quick image Louis was caught between a full smile and a devilish smirk.  
  
Harry really wanted him to wake up already.  
  
Instead of leaving the room, Harry sat on the edge of the bed on the side closest to the door, where he’d been sleeping the past couple of days. He reached for Louis’ shoulder, giving him a firm shake and calling his name. If he was going to wake up, it was just loud enough to wake him up. It didn’t hurt to try.  
  
Nothing. Not yet. Sighing, he turned away and curved over with his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers and pressed the knuckles of his pointer fingers against his lips, stared down at the hardwood floor.  
  
There was no way they were all going to sit in here and just watch Louis sleep for however long it took him to wake up from this. They’d been doing enough of that all weekend. But being honest with himself meant admitting that it would be a long time before he felt comfortable leaving Louis alone again after what had happened with his nightmares.  
  
No, he shouldn’t even need to justify how he felt. He wanted to be with Louis right now. So he was going to be with Louis. He wanted to be with the other lads, so he was going to be with the other lads. So he was going to be with Louis and be with the other lads.  
  
Fuck it. He didn’t care.  
  
He turned back to Louis and tossed the blankets aside, then tugged Louis over and into his lap—sideways this time—so he could use gravity (thank you, _Zayn_ ) and the bed to keep Louis in place before he stood up. So that Harry could curl him up first, tuck Louis’s head against his neck first and put his arms on his stomach first. He did all that, wrapping his arms around Louis to stand up. Maybe his legs were halfway detached though, because they didn’t get the memo to stand. So instead he just sat there, hugging Louis close, head falling until his cheek was resting against Louis’s hair with the squish of his beanie between them.  
  
He closed his eyes, wished Louis were back to his normal warmth already, listened to Louis’s even breaths until his own breathing matched. Even though Louis was just sleeping, he knew Louis would always choose to give him a hug if he needed it. He needed one right now, even if Louis couldn’t return it because he was sleeping. Just...sleeping. Not gone, not out of his body, not knocked out, not remembering, not being taken by something in the shadows, just...sleeping.  
  
Enough of that though. After this weekend, Harry was of the opinion that sleeping was definitely overrated.  
  
“You need to wake up already, Lou. Could really do with a proper hug from this planet,” he murmured.  
  
Then with one more deep breath, he straightened back up, slid his left arm beneath Louis’s knees and stood.  
  
It was much easier the second time. Louis’s weight in his arms didn’t feel as strange, his back wasn’t hurting this time and the muscles in his arms and legs and stomach seemed to automatically know what they needed to do to accommodate the extra weight. And on top of that, Louis was wrong after all: yesterday wasn’t the first and last time Harry carried him.  
  
Hah.  
  
He was still going to become a regular at the gym from now on though.  
  
“Got him?”  
  
Harry looked up from Louis to see Niall only a yard or so away, leaning around the corner of the doorway like he never intended to come in, hardly sparing a second glance at Louis in his arms, like it wasn’t a big deal.  
  
It wasn’t, was it? It was all just bird shit, wasn’t it.  
  
Harry smiled at the thought and Niall flashed him a cheeky grin and jerked his thumb behind him.  
  
“Brilliant. Food’s just waiting on you two then, mate.”  
  
He followed Niall out into the living room where Liam and Zayn were already waiting with plates of sandwiches spread out over the coffee table. The sofa was already clear of pillows and blankets, as though they too expected Harry would be bringing Louis out.  
  
Harry honestly wouldn’t put it past the lads to leave the physical grunt work to him, especially because Zayn and Liam looked about as surprised as Niall had to see Louis in his arms again. Then again, Zayn had been correct that if Louis woke up and they weren’t all waiting there like servants...  
  
Harry laid Louis down fully over the length of the cushions this time, but instead of taking a seat on his side of the sofa by Louis’s feet (usually never a smart idea when they were uncovered), Harry eased Louis up so he could slide under his head, letting Louis use his lap for a pillow the way they often did.  
  
He accepted the plate Zayn handed him, set it on the arm of the couch and got a good look at the telly for the first time.  
  
“Lord of the Rings? Again?” They’d tried once, but Harry hadn’t been able to make it through without falling asleep. It wasn’t boring, just...long.  
  
Liam grinned.  
  
“Might as well watch something long while we wait.”  
  
“And knowing Tommo, bastard’s definitely going to make us wait,” Niall cut in, before Liam could finish.  
  
“But...Lord of the Rings?” He had to admit, he was skeptical. He had plenty of perfectly good rom-coms sitting _right there_.  
  
“How about this. Even after all the sleep you’ve had, if you manage to stay awake through the whole thing I will hand over my phone and let you tweet anything you want from my handle.”  
  
Now that. _That_. Harry perked up. He absolutely couldn’t fall asleep now. The opportunity to tweet _anything_ as Liam was too great for him and Louis to possibly pass up.  
  
Niall laughed; he must’ve shown all that on his face...again.  
  
“Give you free access to Twitter and you’re like a fucking meercat at the watering hole, Haz.”  
  
“As if you wouldn’t be just as excited,” he shot back with a grin. He hadn’t even checked Twitter in three days. If that didn’t say something about his priorities, well.  
  
Niall shrugged, once again unfazed, plopping down in the closest armchair to Harry and Louis, leaving Liam and Zayn to fight it out over the other armchair since Louis was taking up most of the sofa again. Liam won this time. Zayn rolled his eyes but chose to make himself comfortable on the floor, back against Liam’s legs. Liam plucked one of the pillows off the sofa from beneath Louis’s feet and deliberately pushed it over top of them, then sat back with his food. Taking a huge bite of his sandwich, Niall lifted the remote and started the film.  
  
Part of Harry didn’t even want to eat. Not because of some fucked up dramatic declaration of his feelings by starving himself, no. He was actually starving, but the growling of his stomach was going a long way to keeping his mind focused on staying awake. Because Twitter.  
  
And maybe, just maybe, if it growled loudly enough, Louis, with his head on his lap like this, might wake up that much sooner just to grumble at him to eat something and shut it up.  
  
Because Harry absolutely wasn’t above playing that game.  
  
His stomach growled again and he looked down at Louis, but Louis kept right on sleeping.  
  
Fine.  
  
Sighing, he split the difference, slowly eating the chicken and avocado sandwich Zayn had given him, the whole time fighting the urge to take a piece of avocado and smear it on Louis’s lips so that it was the first thing he tasted when he woke up. He fully deserved any prank Harry could come up with right now, really.  
  
But he was too nice for his own good. That and the avocado was too good to waste on someone who couldn’t appreciate a good taste.  
  
Louis should really get his taste buds checked.  
  
The hobbits had just made it to the elves by the time he finished eating. He leaned over Louis long enough to set the empty plate on the table, meet Zayn’s eyes and smile in thanks, before making himself comfortable against the arm of the sofa, right hand resting on Louis’s chest because he was obviously good for nothing more than being an armrest right now.  
  
When he wasn’t flying about a room like a firecracker someone had accidentally released too early, Louis made a good armrest. And a good pillow. And a good chinrest.  
  
Louis was just really fucking comfortable.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the fellowship was sitting around in a really pretty blue wood now and there were more elves singing lullabies and Cate Blanchett was there and Cate Blanchett was beautiful but Harry couldn’t help it when his eyes unfocused and he started to drift a bit. He closed his eyes, listened to the faraway singing with words that weren’t English and-  
  
No. Twitter. _Liam’s Twitter_.  
  
He pushed his eyes open and glanced down at Louis then back to the screen. Cate Blanchett was suddenly shouting, deep and demonic and that was very much not what he’d been expect-  
  
Wait.  
  
He really looked back down at Louis and found himself staring into a pair of open blue eyes looking back up at him, curious and searching. He had no idea how long Louis had been awake, but the moment Harry met his gaze, a small smile curved up the corner of Louis’s lips and his eyes went ten royal blue shades of devious. He curled a still-a-bit-cold hand over the one Harry had resting on his chest and squeezed. Harry sucked in a breath when his heart leapt awake and started prancing about on his ribs, face lighting up because Louis was awake. _Louis was awake_.  
  
Louis carefully lifted a finger to his lips then nodded so subtly at the other three that if Harry hadn’t been watching he wouldn’t have seen him move.  
  
Harry looked up to find the other three still focused on the film, on Cate Blanchett back to normal and surrounded by her bright white light again and walking away. He looked back to Louis and Louis’ smile went even more mischievous.  
  
 _Phone?_ he mouthed, squeezing Harry’s hand again.  
  
Harry couldn’t stop smiling, as wide as the grin on Louis’s face. Nodding, he dropped his left hand from the arm of the sofa to slide over Louis’s eyes and mouth, silently urging him to pretend to stay asleep for a few more moments.  
  
The movement must not’ve been subtle enough though, because he looked back up at the telly just as Niall turned his head and looked at him.  
  
Confusion crossed over Niall's features at the ridiculously large grin that was still pasted all over Harry’s face. He couldn’t try to hide it. Niall glanced down at Louis’ sleeping face, then back and forth from Harry to the screen, trying to figure out what he was missing.  
  
Harry’s grin turned into a full-on smile, complete with disarming dimples for good measure.  
  
“Twitter,” he whispered, nodding towards Liam and pointing at his own eyes and then at the telly. Then Niall was matching his grin and he winked before turning back to the film. Harry was careful not to look down yet.  
  
Louis squeezed his hand again and Harry squeezed a bit at his shirt then slid his hand out from under Louis’s, digging into his pocket by Louis’s head to slip his phone out without the other three noticing.  
  
He flicked open the camera, switched it to video, then set it up on the arm of the sofa so he only needed one hand to keep it steady, angled just enough to catch the other three lads and Louis once he wasn’t lying down. Making sure the other three hadn’t noticed, he shot a quick glance down to Louis, patted his chest and mouthed, _Ready_ , figuring one of those two signs would get the message across.  
  
He pressed record.  
  
Louis’s eyes were closed, but if anyone were actually paying attention to him then the smile he was trying to hide would be impossible to miss.  
  
He didn’t know if Louis was specifically listening to the film or not, but on screen, the fellowship had just left the pretty blue woods and were in canoes on a gorgeous river and there were orcs chasing them in the trees and then a tense silence as Orlando Bloom stared into the trees.  
  
Louis surged upright and yelled, the same type of yell he’d let out in their final X-Factor video diary down in the gym.  
  
Liam screamed.  
  
Niall screamed.  
  
Zayn screamed.  
  
Zayn tangled in Liam’s feet and knocked into the coffee table whipping around so fast that Liam tripped over Zayn twisting in his legs and fell out of the armchair while Niall did a half-roll-stagger out of his own and landed on his bum on the floor facing the sofa. The three of them were wide-eyed and white-faced as they stared at the two laughing maniacs on the sofa behind them.  
  
Harry’s fingers spazzed on his phone and it fell to the floor, but it didn’t matter. He’d gotten it all on film and Louis was doubled over right next to him about to roll straight off the sofa. Harry tipped right and Louis fell left at almost the same time, the two of them colliding in a heap of laughter, only held upright by each other.  
  
“You bloody arseholes! You trying to fucking kill us?!” Liam tried to sound stern as he stood back up, but he was still calming down so his voice was a bit high and he had just been screaming like a pre-teen who snuck in to a horror film.  
  
Zayn just held his head in his hands until he could breathe again but Niall was already laughing. He picked himself off the floor and launched clear over the coffee table into Louis, sending the both of them flying back into the cushions.  
  
“About time, you fucking arse!” He laughed, grappling with Louis and pulling him up into a hug with enough squish to knock the remaining breath that hadn't already been knocked out of Louis out.  
  
Louis returned his hug just as fiercely, shoving his face into Niall's neck.  
  
Liam was trying not to smile, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head, but finally his willpower caved and relief flooded across his face.  
  
Louis pulled out of Niall’s arms and looked up to Liam, who immediately dropped the smile and kept shaking his head, backing away every time Louis’s grin got wider.  
  
“No. No.” He shook his head again. “Absolutely not.”  
  
Louis used Niall to stand up, pausing only to make certain he actually _could_ stand up after not using his legs for three days, before he launched himself straight at Liam.  
  
Liam turned his back at the last moment, but that did absolutely nothing to help him, because he just ended up with Louis clinging to his back like a bloody monkey, arms around his neck.  
  
“I heard someone missed me voice,” Louis murmured, throaty and seductive, into Liam’s ear.  
  
It was hard to deny what he said because hearing his voice had an instant effect on all of them. Harry had been hearing Louis all weekend, but the other lads hadn’t and none of them could hide the smiles or the way their shoulders instantly relaxed, like now it was all officially over.  
  
Liam certainly couldn’t hide the way his shoulders relaxed, not with Louis’s arms wrapped around them. So he tipped forward and bent at the waist until Louis had to either let go or have his feet off the ground.  
  
When his feet were off the ground, Louis nipped playfully at Liam’s ear, still grinning.  
  
“Christ crying in a Christmas fucking carol, aren’t you a sound for sore ears.” Niall stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it around, grinning himself. “Literally.”  
  
“No. Who would miss that?” Liam countered when obviously his first idea hadn’t worked. He was already groaning because he’d known all along Louis would never let him live that down. “You’re such an insufferable twat. And Jesus, your breath smells as bad as your feet.”  
  
“Menace. The term you’re looking for is menace, Payno.” Louis tipped his head to the side, then grinned again and blew hot menace breath straight into Liam’s face when he turned to look at him with another retort.  
  
Liam coughed, face screwing up as he shoved at Louis, who just kept laughing.  
  
“No, Haz was right. The term is ‘little shit’,” Zayn finally said with all the seriousness of a headmaster. Except he was also finally picking himself up from the floor with all the broken pieces of his pride clinging to his clothes, which he then attempted to dust off with little success in Harry’s honest opinion.  
  
Louis’s gaze flicked to Harry, just long enough for a faint smile to quirk up his lips, before he slid off Liam’s back and looped his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. He pulled Zayn right in to a sideways hug that Zayn couldn’t escape from before he'd even finished straightening up.  
  
“You’re both little shits,” Liam amended before Louis could respond to Zayn, glaring at Harry because it was obvious he was in on this too.  
  
Harry just smiled, twin dimples filled with all the innocence in the world. He dropped his stomach onto the arm of the sofa and used it as a base to see-saw himself over the side and scoop up his phone. It was still recording but with his legs in the air, Harry stopped it and immediately uploaded the video to his chat with Louis. And their group chat. Because this was never going to be deleted and the more places it was saved the better.  
  
Niall took the chance while it was there and smacked his upturned arse before sitting back all over the rest of the sofa.  
  
“And you-“ Liam started, pointing a finger at Harry once he’d rolled back upright.  
  
“Shh. Quiet, you twats. Hush.” Louis held Zayn in place with one arm, the other arm out like an orchestra conductor.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to take the point but Louis theatrically cleared his throat.  
  
“I have something to say.”  
  
“When do you not?” Zayn muttered, which earned him another ‘silence’ from Louis that involved Louis rubbing his palm straight down Zayn’s face and Zayn’s face screwing up and jerking back like a fly was buzzing around his nose.  
  
Louis closed his eyes, taking in the moment. Then he turned, caught Zayn by the shoulders and took a deep breath.  
  
“Zayn.” He paused again, for effect, then slowly enunciated every word he said next.  
  
“You. Are. A. Wanker.”  
  
Harry and Niall both burst out laughing as Zayn’s face went from perplexed to suspicious to completely unimpressed in the space of three seconds. Harry should have kept the recording going for that one. Pity. Especially because he would have also captured the utter confusion on Liam’s face too.  
  
Louis sagged into Zayn and moaned dramatically.  
  
“Fucking hell.” He dragged the first word out. “I have been trying to tell you that for three. fucking. days.”  
  
Zayn looked back to Harry again, eyes narrowed, but Harry could only shrug and nod, still smiling. Before Zayn could say anything Louis pulled him into another hug though, a proper one this time, whispering something in his ear too quiet for the other three to catch. Zayn still looked unimpressed, but his eyes softened a wee bit.  
  
“How long have you fuckers been planning that?” Niall asked from where he was now plopped down on the sofa, limbs splayed every which way like an Irish starfish.  
  
Harry sat back down himself, shaking his head.  
  
“About five minutes.”  
  
“Nialler, you think we actually need time to plan shit?” Louis asked curiously as he pulled away from Zayn.  
  
“I think _you_ ,” Liam pointed at Harry again, “don’t get Twitter.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened, mouth falling open.  
  
“What?! But I haven’t fallen asleep yet!”  
  
“What? What’s all this about Twitter?” Louis cut in, looking between the two of them as Harry pouted and sagged back against the sofa. Liam obviously didn’t know how to play this game.  
  
“He had a shot at tweeting something from my handle if he stayed awake the whole film.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “Until that.”  
  
“Film is still playing and I haven’t fallen asleep,” Harry tried again.  
  
“And exactly how much attention are you paying?” Liam countered, doing a fairly good job at hiding a smile, though not good enough.  
  
Harry grinned triumphantly.  
  
“Technically you said nothing about paying attention, Payno.”  
  
Liam rolled his eyes.  
  
“Well how about this: my Twitter, my rules. You lose.”  
  
What was it about Liam being a conniving burpee bastard again?  
  
“But I did burpees for you.” Harry pouted. Yes. Pouted.  
  
Liam wasn’t the only one to burst out laughing, Niall joined in on that. Zayn still looked unimpressed, but at Harry now.  
  
“No you did burpees for Tommo, Haz.” Niall threw an arm towards Louis who was watching the whole exchange with a curious silence. Ironically enough, he was stood exactly where Harry had been standing when he’d been doing the burpees. “And it worked.”  
  
“But I want my prize!” He couldn’t just pass up a chance at Liam’s Twitter without a fight.  
  
“You’re so dramatic.” Liam laughed again. “I don’t buy it for a second. If you want a prize for doing burpees then get your thank you hug from Tommo.”  
  
Of all of them, Harry was the only one who still hadn’t yet gotten a hug from Louis now that he was awake and he immediately looked at Louis, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.  
  
Louis turned to Liam and grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
“Well I know from experience now that you’ve got that covered, Payno. According to some git I know me teeth are three days overdue for a brushing. And some food.” He stretched his arms over his head then crossed them over his chest and arched an eyebrow at Niall. “Haven’t eaten us out of house and home yet, have you?”  
  
“Even if I did, I’m sure you’ve still got Coco Pops stashed somewhere,” Niall shot back, making himself comfortable on the sofa and sending a quick side-glance Harry’s way.  
  
Louis winked, like that was the right answer.  
  
“Good lad. Understanding the importance of a bloke’s cereal, unlike some people ‘round here,” Louis teased, gaze flicking towards Harry again for a brief moment. He clapped a hand to Zayn’s shoulder and gave him one good shake, enough to rock him on his heels. “What do you lot say to a few drinks when I get back?” He flicked his wrist and disappeared around the corner towards his bedroom before any of them could answer.  
  
“Don’t take too long!” Niall called down the hallway after him without getting up. “I want to know what the fuck happened the last time you had a fucking drink!”  
  
Louis definitely heard him. Niall knew how to be loud. But all Louis did was chuckle, just loudly enough for them to hear. They all heard the door to Louis’s room close for the first time since Harry had opened it on Saturday morning.  
  
Harry let his eyes slip shut and a deep breath completely inflate his lungs, so that they could give his heart a hug. He’d get a proper hug later. It was fine. Zayn was right: Louis had just woken up from an entire weekend outside of his body, he was probably just...probably just...  
  
It was fine.  
  



	22. Chapter 22

He wasn’t going to pry. Louis didn’t need that right now. He’d never pry anyway.  
  
Only once he’d let all that air back out again did he open his eyes. The other three were all looking right at him, a mix of confusion, concern, and far too much understanding on their faces. Like he was making ‘a look’ again.  
  
He might’ve held that breath in a mite too long.  
  
“Harry—" Liam started.  
  
“Lou’s right. We’ve got plenty to celebrate now. I’ll go get the drinks.” He stood up, passing by Liam on his way to the kitchen.  
  
He paused when Liam didn’t quite catch his arm but brushed it anyway, fingertips against his bicep.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
Harry looked from Liam’s concerned face to the hallway that led to their bedrooms.  
  
“Yea. Lou’s awake,” he finally said, honestly, looking back to Liam and offering him a faint smile. He leaned in a bit closer to Liam, not so much because he needed to lower his voice, though he did anyway. There was a tightness in his chest and he was still trying to work out where it was coming from. “Think it’s just not so easy to watch him walk away right now is all.”  
  
“Because of...”  
  
“Because of the whole weekend.” Harry shrugged. “Not just that.”  
  
“Not because you didn’t get your burpee reward hug and now you’ve got that look on your face that says you really need one?” Liam asked with a small smile.  
  
Harry snorted, grinning fully at that, grateful.  
  
“Of course because of that. I worked bloody hard for those burpees and I expect my reward.” He shrugged again, tipped his forehead against Liam’s a moment in a silent thank you. “But I have no doubts I’ll get that hug. Besides, I think you’ll agree those hugs are much better with clean teeth.”  
  
Liam rolled his eyes but he laughed too, shaking his head.  
  
“Insufferable twat.”  
  
“Menace,” Harry corrected.  
  
“Little shit,” Zayn corrected.  
  
“Are we drinking or not?” Niall corrected.  
  
Harry twisted to look at Niall still seated on the sofa.  
  
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown out the rest of the Guinness yet.” He sent him a warning glare. Well, he hoped it was a warning glare, but it apparently wasn’t working, because Niall just grinned at him.  
  
Liam pulled him into a quick side hug and Harry gratefully accepted it, before detaching to go and appease the Irish alcohol gods by making his way into the kitchen for the drinks.  
  
He set five beers out and pulled the drawer open for the opener, flicking the caps off with a little more force than necessary, dimly enjoying the small crash and rattle as the caps hit the worktop or rolled off onto the floor. Pausing, he stared at the cupboard right in front of him, then slid his gaze slowly, curiously, up towards the very top shelf. Said curiousity got the better of him and he climbed onto the worktop so he could reach that shelf, the one right below the ceiling, and pulled open the cupboard. He peered inside and smiled softly.  
  
There, lying on its side because it was too tall for the shelf, was a box of Coco Pops.  
  
Closing his eyes, he thunked his forehead against the edge of the shelf, letting the memory of Louis chomping down on the cereal and throwing pieces at him wash over his senses. It did a lot to loosen the tight feeling that had come back to his chest that he still couldn’t work out.  
  
“What the fuck, mate?”  
  
Lifting his head back up, Harry twisted at the waist to look down at Niall standing in the doorway and shot him a smile far more genuine this time around.  
  
“Nothing. Just checking for something.” He quickly hopped down and gathered four of the bottles in his hands, nodding at the lone Guinness left. “Think you can handle that one on your own?”  
  
Niall snorted and swiped up the bottle.  
  
“Irish, mate. I’ll drink you all under the fucking sofa.”  
  
Interestingly enough, they hadn’t actually tested that yet, to see who exactly would be the last man standing. Not Liam, of course, and Harry doubted it’d be him, but now that he thought about it, a drinking contest between the two Northerners would be nothing less than brilliant, like having front row seats to a personal indoor fireworks show.  
  
“I’m having a thought,” he said as he followed Niall back into the living room and handed out the beers. He set Louis’s down on the coffee table, clinked bottles with the other three then sat down in his spot on the sofa, got up, fixed the cushion, sat back down again, squiggled, made himself comfortable.  
  
“Here we go,” Zayn muttered through a smile, taking a sip. “Should we get an extra fire extinguisher?”  
  
“S’pose that depends on what happens on the follow through,” Harry mused, rapping one finger over and over against his bottle, quickly enough and constantly enough that it had Liam glancing down at it. He crossed his right leg over his left, ankle over his knee, shaking his foot.  
  
“Alright, let’s have it then.” Niall had completely forgotten how to sit in an armchair by this point, because that’s not where his legs were supposed to go.  
  
“Drinking contest.” Harry grinned, unable to stop his finger. So he switched the bottle to his other hand and then back again a few times. “We’ve never tried it. I want to see which of us really is the King over the Table.”  
  
“Should have known it’d be another contest with you,” Liam chuckled, shaking his head. He was sitting back in the armchair he’d been in before. Someone had paused the film while Harry was in the kitchen. “Why would we even want do this?”  
  
Harry shifted again, lifted his bum to fix his pyjama bottoms, sat back again, took another large swallow, drummed his fingers against his calf.  
  
“Think about it, Payno. You know it won’t be you, so if you forfeit now with me, think of the gold we’ll get to see watching those gits attempt it.”  
  
“Attempt is not the same as succeed, Haz,” Niall pointed out sternly, pointing his bottle at him. “Which is what I’d be doing, by the way.”  
  
“You’d forfeit?” Zayn asked curiously, obviously surprised.  
  
“May be a competitive idiot—" he paused at that to throw a look at Liam, “—but I know my limits.” Then he shrugged, smiled, shifted a bit in his seat, twisted the bottle in circles between both hands, shifted in his seat again. “Reckon I much rather watch everyone else descend into plastered madness and be the one with the crystal-clear memory of it all.”  
  
“What makes you think we would?” Niall asked, but it was obvious that he was already thinking about this idea. Zayn had a look on his face that was closer to figuring out where to buy a second fire extinguisher and Liam was now studying Harry like what he said had merit.  
  
For the next several minutes Harry listened to them discussing the best time and place to do so, considering how busy their schedules were coming up, discussing how it would probably be best to not do in public but would the tour bus be good or should they wait until they were home a night to do it at one of theirs? There were so many questions that needed to be figured out and Louis still hadn’t even come out yet to give his opinion on it which no doubt would start a boasting war of some sort with Niall. But—  
  
“Harry.” He looked up to find Zayn studying him over the rim of his bottle, frowning. How long had it been since he’d said anything? “You haven’t stopped moving since you sat down. What is it?”  
  
The way he said it reminded Harry of the last time he’d said those words, holding a cup of Yorkshire tea with two single pinpricks of blood in it, seated in front of Harry and Louis on Louis’s bed. Harry’s immediate answer surprised even himself, now that he actually clued in to what he’d been doing to make Zayn ask.  
  
“I don’t,” Harry still couldn’t explain it, just as he hadn’t been able to then. That tightness was back and he still couldn’t figure it out. He frowned again, dropped his leg back to the floor, shaking his whole leg this time. “Something just... feels.”  
  
Liam arched an eyebrow at him, obviously confused. “Just feels?”  
  
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, scratched at his temple with his bottle.  
  
“I can’t explain it. It’s like...like something shifting.”  
  
Silence. The confusion was so evident on their faces that they couldn’t even come up with a proper question to begin to try and understand.  
  
“Like...like from the curse?” Niall finally tried, sitting forward in his armchair like a normal person now.  
  
“Yea. Well, no. Maybe? I felt it before. Earlier. Sort of like when you can’t remember if you’ve left the cooktop on, you know?”  
  
“Haz, you’re really making no sense,” Liam admitted, trying to be gentle about it because they could all apparently sense his obvious agitation.  
  
But he didn’t even know where his agitation was coming from, which only made him more agitated, which made him wonder which came first which only left him even more—  
  
“Fuck. Nevermind.” Harry shook his head and downed the rest of his beer. He changed the subject. “How long’s it been since Lou left?”  
  
He didn’t think before asking it; the question just popped out. But now that it was out, he wanted to know. He’d left his phone over on Louis’ side of the sofa after the recording earlier, but Zayn’s phone was in front of Zayn on the coffee table.  
  
Zayn clicked it on without lifting it up, checking the time.  
  
“I’d say about fifteen minutes. Why?”  
  
“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head and shifting again, pushing out a laugh as his left foot started twitching instead of his right. “Reckon it’s just a holdover from before dreams nightmare weekend habit? I don’t know.” He groaned, leaning forwards and setting his empty bottle on the coffee table with an audible thunk so he could scrub his hands over his face. “Just doesn’t feel right without him here.”  
  
“I know.” Liam said that like Harry had echoed his words.  
  
Harry probably had. He vaguely recalled Liam saying something like that before, years ago now. Or yesterday. Maybe. He didn’t know.   
  
Liam's hand clapped down on his shaking left knee and squeezed.  
  
“But he’s awake now. Probably could do with some alone time, right? What with how quickly he left and all.”  
  
And that. That.  
  
Harry huffed out a breathless laugh and nodded, not bothering to look up.  
  
“Course. Yea.” He straightened up again, dropped his hands and took a deep breath, flashing Liam a grateful smile.  
  
“You know he can’t resist the siren call of alcohol,” Niall added with a grin, tipping up his own bottle of Guinness in a cheer to them all before taking a large swig himself. “He’ll be back.”  
  
And that.  
  
Niall was right. Even if fifteen minutes was an impressive display of resistance, especially when Louis was the one who had asked for the drinks to begin with.  
  
Zayn was still watching him curiously and he cocked his head to the side, the question written across his features.  
  
Harry didn't know what his face was saying to Zayn right now. He shook his head, shrugged, nodded at Niall, glanced back at Zayn. None of his responses really made any sense, even to him.  
  
Something moved in the shadows in the dark corner behind Zayn, to the left of the telly.  
  
Harry closed his eyes only to snap them back open again when that registered. He stared hard into the corner. Nothing was there. It was still daylight, the rare bright London sunlight actually peeking in through the sliding glass doors to the balcony.  
  
He stood up abruptly.  
  
Then realized he’d just stood up. The other three were staring at him in confusion now.  
  
“I’m going to go see what’s taking him.” He didn’t even wait for the others to respond, willing the automatic reaction of his nervous system to something he thought he saw to go away. They were just dreams, just nightmares, that’s it.

*

  
  
With a deep breath, he knocked on Louis’s closed door.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
No answer.  
  
He groaned, thunked his forehead against the door three times to get a hold of himself before trying again.  
  
“Louis?”  
  
Why did this feel familiar? Oh right. Because he’d done it on Saturday morning. He'd felt off enough that he’d left Liam’s to come home, felt off enough that he’d knocked on Louis’s closed door because he needed to make sure everything was ok.  
  
He hadn’t even known it was really Louis then, the voice in his head. What was it Louis had said?  
  
 _Will you just go in already? Stop bloody stalling, Haz._  
  
He wasn’t stalling. He was respecting privacy, being a good flatmate and most importantly, prolonging his life.  
  
 _Harry._  
  
“Alright alright,” he mumbled to himself, carefully opening the door and peeking his head inside.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
The room was empty, but the bathroom door was partly open and Harry could hear the shower running. Instead of Louis in the bed, now it was just his grey beanie, thrown near the middle with something white peeking out beneath it that looked vaguely familiar.  
  
The tightness around his wee creature didn't go away, but Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. The fifteen minutes made much more sense now. Steadfastly refusing to remember any other images from that shower he’d had when Louis mentioned having a shower when he woke up, Harry leaned against the doorframe and called across the room loudly enough to be heard by Louis even over the water.  
  
“Decided to have that shower first after all, huh? Well don’t shower yourself with too much bloody love and affection. You take any longer and your drink’s going to ferment again.”  
  
Harry waited for Louis to answer but got nothing. He blinked, surprised.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
He trudged across the room to lean against the outside of the bathroom doorframe. The spray of the water beat down, endless, uniform, like it was just on. Louis must not be in the shower yet.  
  
“Lou, I know you can hear me.”  
  
He shifted, peeked through the crack in the doorway, saw only a slice of the sink, the mirror above the sink completely clear. Something about the mirror made no sense. He didn’t know what, but that confusion went straight to his hand and made him open the door further.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
Not immediately seeing Louis, Harry stepped into the bathroom and slid in the puddle of water spreading from the left across the floor from the open shower curtain. He caught himself against the wall, gaze falling and landing on Louis, crumpled against the corner of the back and far walls of the stall, white pullover and blue plaid pyjamas still on, soaked through with the rest of him.  
  
“Jesus. Lou!” He dropped to the tiles outside the shower. The water on the floor and in the sopping wet floor mat instantly soaked through the knees of his pyjamas. He couldn’t really see Louis’s face, head turned away as he was, leaning against the corner of the two walls.  
  
Even though the spray wasn’t hitting Louis's face, his hair was finally no longer spiked up at all, but wet against his skin. He reached in to touch him, nearly jerked back.  
  
“Fuck.” The spray was ice cold, must’ve been cold for a long time now, because Louis was visibly shivering.  
  
Louis still hadn’t shown any signs that he’d heard Harry and he didn’t even know if Louis was conscious and flashes of trying to reach him, to wake him up, to bring him back, high up on the walkway in their last dream shot through his mind.  
  
Harry shoved back the fleeting fear that maybe Louis had taken something, because he knew, without a doubt, that Louis would never do that. Louis could be destructive, but he wasn’t self-destructive and Harry would never doubt that in a dream or out. He gripped the soaking fabric at Louis’ shoulder, too terrified to even shake him, clutching as though Louis were actually slipping away even though it was completely irrational.  
  
“Louis, look at me, look at me please!”  
  
He couldn’t keep the open terror out of his voice and Louis turned his head and opened his eyes as though on command. Harry knew the moment he saw Louis’s face that if he could, Louis would have stayed with his head turned away, stayed quietly hoping that Harry would think he couldn’t hear him and just leave. But now Harry wanted to sob at the hopeless resignation etched across Louis’s face, tears pouring down, cheeks pale once more from the cold, eyes red, lips starting to lose their colour all over again and irises so so so blue.  
  
“Lou,” Harry choked, trying to understand, trying to process what was happening, trying to reconcile Louis now with how he’d been leaving the living room fifteen minutes ago. Something must’ve happened. “Jesus, what, fuck.” He jerked upright to turn the water off.  
  
“Don’t.” The quiet, choked word was enough to freeze Harry. He turned and dropped back to Louis’ side without questioning him, still kneeling outside the stall.  
  
Louis hadn’t moved, head still fallen back against the tiles.  
  
Harry reached in again to pull him out of the water but Louis was like the dead weight he’d been all weekend, except this time he was refusing to move. He didn’t even notice Harry’s efforts. Louis never moved unless he wanted to. Harry couldn’t even get to either of his arms, which were lying crossed over his stomach, semi-protected by the curve of his thighs. So his right hand fell to hold on to Louis’s knee, left gripping his shoulder. He felt Louis' shivering even more now. The white pullover clung to his skin, mapped out every curve of his muscles, so wet that Harry could see the dark shapes of his bird and heart tattoos through the knitting.  
  
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”  
  
Louis’s eyes closed again and he smiled through the tears, a barely there quirk of his lips with no happiness behind it, resigning himself to this.  
  
“I didn’t have a word.”  
  
“What?” Harry breathed, uncomprehending. Of all the sentences he could have been expecting, that one made no sense.  
  
“I didn’t have a word.” And then Louis laughed, wet and desolate, opened his eyes again. “I needed a word, Haz. But I don’t have them. I don’t have your words.”  
  
Harry's sweet little creature curled up in the back of his chest, wilting, hiding away from Louis’s pain and leaping out of his chest and over to Louis all at the same time. The tears were already on his cheeks before his mind fully processed what Louis was trying to say.  
  
Louis barely nodded, flicking his gaze towards the spray of water before closing them again.  
  
“So I got in here to try and make it stop.”  
  
Harry let go of Louis's knee to cup his jaw as carefully as he possibly could, not wanting Louis to turn away from him again.  
  
“Make what stop? Lou, please. Come out. You’re freezing. Please.”  
  
Louis didn’t move.  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Louis inhaled another breath that shook in time with his shivering. “I’m awake again. I’ll warm up.” More tears fell, steady, silent.  
  
“Warm up now, yea? Come on, you’ll feel better. We’ll get a cuppa made for you.”  
  
“I don’t want to warm up.”  
  
“But...how—"  
  
“Please, please just fucking believe me,” Louis whispered. His eyes closed, that same hopeless tone in his voice that Harry remembered so clearly in the last dream, when Louis, standing in their backstage dressing room, had begged him to go.  
  
Harry shied back instinctively, the hand on Louis's jaw falling away, but he tightened his hold on Louis’ shoulder. That dream wasn’t right now. Louis wasn’t telling him to go, he was ... Harry pushed through the utter confusion he felt.  
  
“I believe you. Of course I believe you. Why wouldn’t I believe you? Just because I don’t understand doesn’t mean I don’t believe you.” He curved his palm over Louis’s jaw again. ”Please, Lou, I just want to understand.”  
  
Louis’s eyes shot open to stare at him and then his face fell again.  
  
Harry wanted to sob in frustration, wanted to just ask Louis what to say, ask him what he needed to hear, because he couldn’t seem to get it right.  
  
Something had shattered Louis wide open and all his broken pieces were so fine, so delicate that if Harry wasn’t careful picking him up, he'd only break Louis more.  
  
“Please tell me. Why? Why don’t you want to warm up?” He smoothed his thumb over Louis’s cheek, like maybe it would give him the answers. If he swiped across his cheekbone the way Louis had to his, Louis wouldn’t shut down the way Harry knew he was about to, the way he always did.  
  
“I’ve never met someone who wanted to be freezing,” he tried, attempting to put as much lightness into his tone as he could but failing miserably. “Please. I just want to understand.”  
  
Louis’s eyes closed again, but before Harry’s heart could drop, he murmured, “Because I’m almost numb.”  
  
He still hadn’t moved except to turn his head to face Harry. He laughed again, quietly, breathlessly, still with no happiness behind it. Then he shivered, extra hard, just once, like his body was proving his point for him.  
  
“Because I’m feeling everything again, Haz. And it’s too much.”  
  
And that, _that_ Harry understood. Hadn’t he done the exact same thing the moment the curse was broken? Overwhelmed by his own emotions and how potently he’d felt them compared to his dreams, all he could think to do was stagger out onto the balcony in a desperate attempt to have the cold February air overwhelm his senses instead.  
  
Harry had woken up in between, but Louis had been without a body for three days, unable to really feel anything while being awake for three days.  
  
“I hear you,” he whispered, laughed a bit breathlessly himself, as wet as Louis’s laugh had been. “I did the same thing when we broke the curse,” he admitted, needing Louis to know that he did understand, that he did believe him, that he wasn’t alone.  
  
Before Louis could ask, Harry pulled back only so he could climb into the shower with him, immediately losing his breath at the shock of cold water hitting his back, soaking through his cardigan and shirt and piercing straight down to his skin. He knelt down in front of Louis as best he could around Louis’s legs. He could shield Louis from the spray, but could do little to warm him up as long as Louis was still wearing those clothes and soaking wet.  
  
“What happened?” He wrapped his arms around Louis’s knees in something like a hug.  
  
Louis had opened his eyes again when Harry climbed in, the only part of him to move, tracking Harry’s movement, but they closed again now.  
  
Harry squeezed Louis’s knees just as hard as Louis’s eyes were squeezed shut. He prayed Louis understood what he meant. Louis wasn’t in his head anymore, couldn’t read his thoughts. But surely if Harry could just understand what had overwhelmed him, he could help him now.  
  
Louis slowly shook his head without lifting it away from the tiles, something like pain and guilt warring on his face. He was trying so hard to hide it and school his features but simply couldn’t. He only succeeded in dragging more tears from his eyes for the failed effort. He bumped his head back against the wall.  
  
“Lou, please, please talk to me. You’re awake. It’s over now. It’s all over now. Whatever it is, we can handle it.”  
  
The devastation only wound its way over Louis’s face again and once again Harry didn’t understand. He didn’t _understand_ and he wanted to sob, wanted to scream out. He’d never seen such utter desolation on Louis’s face and he didn’t know how to help or how to make it stop or what had happened and he needed Louis to be ok because after everything that had happened Louis deserved to be ok and he wasn’t ok.  
  
He shifted to the side to get around Louis’s legs and his own, so he could reach him. The spray was hitting the both of them again now but all Harry could do was hover over Louis and press their foreheads together, curve his palms over Louis’s cheeks, squeeze his own eyes shut.  
  
There was no warmth in the water. Louis hadn’t even turned the tap past cold. It wouldn’t be long until Harry was fully shivering too. Louis’ skin was so cold once again, reminding Harry of how cold he’d been when he was cursed, how cold he’d been in his nightmare.  
  
“Lou, please. Please talk to me. What’s going on.”  
  
“She was right, Haz.”  
  
The words were empty, resigned.  
  
Harry opened his eyes to find Louis looking up at him, their faces so close Harry could see every soft hue in the electric blue of Louis's eyes.  
  
He’d never seen his eyes quite like this. Louis had never seemed vulnerable when his eyes were lit up like this with that solar flare simmering just beneath the surface. But they were electric blue now, no stage lights, no camera flashes to flood into his soul, yet as open as they’d ever been to Harry.  
  
He was pleading, begging Harry for something knowing Harry couldn’t give it to him and Harry wanted so much to give it to him but he didn’t know what he needed.  
  
“She said it would give me what I want. She was right.”  
  
Harry cast his mind back to Louis's memory of how to break the curse, the memory of choosing the curse.  
  
“What do you want, Lou?”  
  
He barely breathed the words, praying they were gentle enough to not make Louis close up. He smoothed his thumbs carefully over Louis's cheeks, but Louis shook his head again.  
  
He surged up away from Harry to the centre of the shower where his hands smacked flat against the floor and he ducked his head over, knees up, the spray hitting his head and the back of his neck. The tension carved out every muscle in his back, moulded as they were by the soaked fabric.  
  
“Lou, please—"  
  
He couldn’t see Louis’s face anymore. The spray of the water was masking any sounds Louis could be making with his tears. His shoulders were shaking with shivers, so Harry couldn’t even tell if he was still crying. He couldn’t see anything, didn’t know. Sitting partly behind him with his own knees up now, Harry pressed his palm slowly right in the centre of Louis’s back. Louis tensed beneath his touch but he held it there, curved his fingers just slightly into the soaked fabric.  
  
“Hazza, please just—"  
  
“No.” The word was hoarse, but he pushed as much force into it as he could. Harry wanted to lean forward, press against Louis, pull him out of the spray, but he forced himself to stay still. Instead he drew his hand down more towards the small of Louis’s back so he’d feel the motion. “I’m not leaving you like this.”  
  
He couldn’t help how choked the next sentence came out, more desperate than assertive. He gripped at the wet fabric.  
  
“Please don’t fucking tell me to go again.”  
  
Louis didn’t say anything.  
  
“Please. Just tell me what’s happened,” he tried again, just as carefully, when Louis continued to stay silent.  
  
Louis’ shivering stopped long enough for his shoulders to tense, but then they sagged back to shivering again.  
  
He said something, too softly for Harry to hear more than the quiet mumble of his voice mingling with the drumming of the water. Harry leaned forwards a little bit.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
Louis didn’t move. For a few moments Harry thought he wouldn’t say it again.  
  
“I said I want to go back.”  
  
The words were still so quiet that with the spray of the water and Louis’s face hidden, Harry almost didn’t hear them again. It took another moment for them to register and he froze, grip tightening in Louis’s pullover.  
  
Louis’s head ducked down further, fingers of both hands shoving into his hair and gripping.  
  
“What?” He barely got the word out, breathless and so so confused.  
  
“I want to go back, Haz.” Louis was crying again, still so silently, but the tears were in his voice. He was so ashamed, so devastated by the words spilling from his lips, like they were poison. “I want to go back.”  
  
“Go back...” Flashes of the whole weekend, of Louis just lying there, in his bed, on the sofa, only a voice in his head, came to Harry and none of them gave him any answer. “Go back...to my mind?”  
  
It was the only place Louis had officially gone that wasn’t in his body, but that didn’t make the question any easier to even ask because it sounded so strange.  
  
Louis recoiled as soon as he asked, curling a little more over himself and pulling away enough that the fabric caught in Harry’s hand pulled away from his skin.  
  
Harry’s fingers were quickly going numb but even as the first shivers rocked up his own spine, he didn’t let go.  
  
Louis’ shoulders were shaking now with more than just shivers, shuddering with the type of shaky breathing that came from heavy crying. He must’ve had his lips pressed together to stop any sounds from coming out though because there was no way he could still be this silent unless he was trying to muffle the sounds.  
  
Louis curled even more into himself, grip on his hair tight enough to twist and pull the wet strands caught between his fingers and the fabric in Harry’s hands pulled even further from his skin, like he was somehow going to get away and-  
  
“Lou, stop. Stop,” Harry managed, swallowing to keep his own fear down. “Don’t do this to yourself.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Louis choked out, right hand unclenching from his hair to wipe at the tears on his cheek. He tried another quiet laugh on for size in the middle of so obviously crying, face still hidden from view. “You shouldn’t have to-“  
  
“If you dare finish that sentence with ‘see me cry’, I will murder you,” Harry whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the spray. “You know that’s not what I meant.” The tears were still steadily falling down his own face and even if the words were soft, he put a hard enough edge to them so that Louis wouldn’t even try to argue.  
  
“I believe you. I believe you, remember? I’m just asking to understand,” he said softly when Louis’s hand just slid back into his hair.  
  
Louis nodded, but didn’t look up.  
  
“You said it like your mind is such a horrible fucking place to be.” Another faint laugh that sounded more like a cry barely reached Harry’s ears.  
  
Harry wished he could gather Louis up in his arms now, only partly because he was desperate for any sort of warmth. Instead he moved enough to sit back against the back wall of the shower, thankfully close enough that he could still press his palm flat against Louis’s back.  
  
“It’s not exactly the easiest place to be, though. I should know,” Harry half-agreed, resting his head back against the tiles.  
  
Louis turned his head just enough to peer at Harry over his shoulder, just a glimpse of his eyes and the tears and the sad smile on his lips.  
  
“I know that now too.”  
  
Harry only recognized the small tease beneath the yearning because he knew Louis so well. He offered him a smile back, just as small but still so hopelessly confused, hoping Louis wouldn’t look away again.  
  
“So then why...”  
  
“Because—" Louis turned away.  
  
Harry didn’t know if he was struggling to find the words, or struggling to say them. He just waited, quietly, smoothing his thumb over the frigid wet knitting clinging to Louis’ skin. Under his hand, Louis’s muscles fluttered through another shiver. The cold water poured down his back and over Harry's hand, which was mostly numb now too.  
  
“Because it was safe.” Louis's entire body caved inward the moment the words slipped out. “Because nothing else mattered. Because I had the chance to just forget, make the most of what looked like a shit situation and spend time with you and for once not have to fucking worry about the rest of the fucking world.”  
  
Harry sat forward off the wall, no longer able to stay this far away from Louis. He leaned in close enough that some of the spray hitting Louis bounced back and misted against his face. He ignored it as best he could, smoothing his hand up to Louis’ shoulder. His right hand joined his left in touching him, closer to Louis’s waist. He curved his fingers around Louis’ side, hoping the action would feel grounding, the way Louis always grounded him.  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
“I tried.” Louis shrugged so subtly that it was almost lost in his shivering, like he didn’t even have the room left to care about the action, like the statement was so small of a thing as to not even deserve a shrug. “The first time. At Liam’s. I tried to tell you.”  
  
Harry barely had a chance to even process that before Louis looked up towards the front of the shower, then twisted enough to give Harry another glimpse of resigned blue eyes.  
  
“But you didn’t get it. You didn’t _understand_ how I could possibly be ok with it all.”  
  
The words could have been barbed, _should_ have been. A statement like that had accusation painted all over it, but somehow they weren’t. Somehow Louis sounded like he’d turned the barb of those words on himself.  
  
Louis’s eyes closed.  
  
“And I didn’t get that. You didn’t understand, but you believed me, didn’t you. When you first asked how, you believed me. I know that now. But I thought you didn’t believe me because who the fuck ever believes me when I say anything anymore and I fucked it all up and took it out on you because how the fuck could I really have been ok with everything? The fuck is wrong with me?”  
  
Harry pushed out a breath, his hand tightening on Louis’s waist.  
  
“Nothing is wrong with—"  
  
“But you did. You fucking believed me.” Louis’s eyes closed again and more tears slipped out, so easy to spot even with the water streaming down his cheeks. “You listened to me, Haz. You hear every fucking thing I say, don’t you. You hear me. For three fucking days I got to know how that feels... to be fucking heard.” He trailed off then pushed through almost seamlessly, licking his lips, voice catching. “I felt like the centre of the fucking universe.”  
  
Immediately after that whispered confession he tensed and turned away again, shaking his head even as he ducked back down.  
  
“I know it’s fucking selfish, but who doesn’t want to fucking feel that way? And then I fucking squandered it all and I ran out of time and I want more time. I want more time, Haz.” His voice cracked, broke, shoulders slumping again. “I want to go back. But it really is a fucking curse, because I just want to go back. And I fucking can’t.”  
  
Harry's heart was breaking all over again, his sweet little creature scrambling to pick up the pieces of its own body as it fell apart, trying to hold out those broken pieces to Louis so he could piece himself back together with what was left of Harry’s heart instead.  
  
Louis _was_ the centre of Harry’s universe. No wonder that had come through so potently in his mind that even Louis felt it.  
  
“Lou—"  
  
“It’s so fucking selfish,” Louis gasped out over a sob that he couldn’t keep down, shaking his head again and again. He kept shaking it, cracking even more open, more pieces breaking off, the words spewing out that he couldn’t stop. “It’s your fucking mind and you had no fucking privacy and no fucking choice in all of this and after all you and the lads did to help me this whole fucking weekend and all the fucking shit I put you lot through and now all I want is to fucking go back.”  
  
“But... my nightmare—"  
  
“Our.”  
  
Harry’s brows furrowed and Louis, even through his tears, tried to laugh again, but it was such a poor imitation that sounded more desolate than anything.  
  
“The moment you said you didn’t know where we were but I did I knew it couldn’t just be yours.”  
  
Harry pushed out a breath, still surprised at that admission even though he had no reason to be. Niall had said much the same last night and Louis was the brightest person he knew. He should have known Louis would have figured that out too. But then he realized he was surprised by _when_ Louis figured it out, not that he had.  
  
But if he’d hoped bringing up the nightmare would help, it didn’t. How could it? It was a fucking nightmare.  
  
Louis’s hands were back to clenching in his hair, fingers already so white from the cold turning even whiter with the grip.  
  
“I know,” he said, as though Harry’s silence had been an answer of some sort. “I fucking know. How the fuck could I want to fucking go back to that? How the fuck could I have felt safe even then? Why the fuck would I want to go back to where I fucking hurt you? To my own fucking nightmare. The fuck is wrong with me, Haz.”  
  
“Nothing is wrong with you." Harry said it fast enough so that Louis couldn’t cut him off this time. “Why do you want to go back to that?” he whispered hesitantly, carefully. Maybe if he found the right tone Louis would begin to automatically know that he just wanted to understand, not that he didn’t believe him.  
  
“I don’t.” Another wet laugh escaped Louis. “I don’t ever want to relive that fucking memory. But I would, if I had to, because when I wasn’t fucking it all up, everything else was fucking worth it.” Still turned away, he pushed the heel of his hand against his eye then jerked it away again, dropping it to Harry’s at the dip of his waist where he clenched his fingers around Harry’s so tightly. “I’m so fucking sorry. You were right, you never had a choice in all this and the shit I put you through—"  
  
“I had the choice to do everything I could to help you, Lou,” Harry cut in, shaking his head. “And I will fucking make that choice over and over again for the rest of my fucking life if I need to. Because you’re fucking worth it. Always have been.” He squeezed him again, gave a gentle tug to try and nudge Louis into uncurling and moving back out of the spray. “Don’t forget, I already told you the dream in the stadium is going in my memories.”  
  
“You’re so fucking unreal,” Louis choked out, squeezing Harry’s hand one more time before releasing it, pushing it back into his hair.  
  
“Maybe. But last I checked I felt pretty real.” Harry tried pushing some lightness into his voice for the both of them. Last he checked he felt real enough to be pretty fucking freezing too. He tugged gently on Louis’s waist and shoulder again when Louis didn’t immediately answer. And then said, when he didn’t move, “Hey. Come here.”  
  
It took a few moments, but then Louis mumbled, “Why.”  
  
And although still wet with tears, the tone also just bordered on suspicious and petulant and it was enough for Harry to keep going, squeezing again.  
  
“Because I’m fucking freezing. And if you’re so set on getting rid of all your warmth again, you might as well give it to me this time.”  
  
He sat back against the wall and tugged again but Louis didn’t move. Louis didn’t move until Louis chose to move.  
  
Louis slowly uncurled enough to push the heels of his hands against the floor of the stall. He budged back until the spray was mostly hitting his legs and Harry could curve into Louis.  
  
A single deep shiver rode over Harry at the tease of warmth that seeped through the few inches between his chest and Louis’s back.  
  
He looped his arms around Louis’ stomach but Louis was still hunched forwards with one knee up and the other tucked sideways beneath, left arm braced on his knee and holding his head in his hand, so Harry didn’t try to close the space between them further. Shielded by Louis, the water wasn’t hitting Harry at all anymore and although Louis was freezing, he still had enough body heat to feel so fucking warm compared to how cold Harry and everything else felt.  
  
Harry dropped his forehead to rest right between Louis’ shaking shoulders, holding him like a teddy bear and a protector all in one. This close he could hear the quiet sniffles Louis was making, struggling to stop crying, his stomach jerking erratically under Harry’s arms.  
  
“You know,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Louis to hear him, when Louis moved in a way that made Harry think he was swiping the back of his hand over his nose. “I heard somewhere that if you want to survive a flood, you need to give it an outlet, let it in.”  
  
Louis’ shoulders stopped shaking for a moment and Harry didn’t need to hear the faintly incredulous _what_ that he choked out to know he’d momentarily disrupted Louis’ thoughts.  
  
He smiled against Louis's back, deliberately took a deep breath loud enough for Louis to hear.  
  
“Flood. Flood of water, flood of tears, flood of emotions. You should do what you don’t want to do and let it in. Or, well, out, in this case.”  
  
It took a moment, but then Louis huffed an exhale too quiet to be a true laugh.  
  
“I hate crying. It always hurts so fucking much when I cry.”  
  
“You’re crying _because_ it hurts so fucking much,” Harry murmured, squeezing his arms around Louis for a moment. “Crying helps it hurt less in the end. But you have to be strong if you’re gonna cry because it’s going to hurt so fucking much while you are.”  
  
He paused, then added, “When I’ve got too much going on inside, I have to let some of it out. That’s what the tears are for. Wee wet blobs of feelings coming out.”  
  
“Your alien is showing again, Hazza.” Still a whisper, but a little calmer, like he wasn’t fighting his own tears quite so much.  
  
“Probably.” Harry smiled, lifting his head to press his lips right between Louis' shoulder blades where his forehead had been before resting back against Louis again. He closed his eyes and murmured, “Just give in and let it all out. Even if you have no idea how, you will feel better once you do. I promise. If anyone knows it’s me, right?”  
  
Louis didn’t answer. He didn’t uncurl and sit back either, but he dropped his right arm so his forearm rested over Harry’s on his stomach. Then he wiggled his fingers between Harry’s until Harry let go enough of his own arm. Louis slotted his hand over the back of Harry’s and clamped down.  
  
Harry matched the force of his grip as best he could. He didn’t lift his head, just let Louis cry against him.  
  
“She _was_ right, you know,” he started after a few quiet minutes of just the gentle drumming of the water and Louis’s tears.  
  
He kept his voice soft, not wanting Louis to think he needed to respond.  
  
“But not that what you want exists only in my head. Maybe you want to go back because you felt heard, but people are listening, people do hear you. People _want_ to listen to you, want to know what you have to say. Maybe you just needed to remember that, how it feels to know the whole world is listening to you, even when you think you have nothing to say.”  
  
Louis’ shaking eased, just a wee bit, but enough for Harry to feel it and know he was listening. Harry tipped up enough to press another kiss to the spot between Louis’ shoulders, thumb sweeping over Louis’s where their hands were connected. Then he laughed softly, shook his head against Louis’s back so Louis could feel the movement.  
  
“There’s so much you don’t say, Lou. You keep in so much. Not the silly shit, but what’s really important to you, what you see, what you know. And I think people know that. I think they see it. They see how fucking important you are and can’t stop asking, wanting and needing to know everything about you. Like...like you’re meant to change the fucking world and everyone is just waiting to see how you do it. I reckon she saw that. All it took was one night just in the same fucking place as you with no idea who you are, and she saw that.”  
  
Harry laughed again, breathlessly, incredulously, shaking his head once more against Louis’s back. He was so fucking in awe of Louis, had been since the day they met. The day he pissed on Louis and instead of being normal, Louis had somehow understood him, opened that fucking beautiful heart of his and decided right then that they’d be friends, like it was the secret code, the password, or piss-word, he’d been waiting for.  
  
Maybe Harry wasn’t the only alien on this planet. Maybe Louis was just better at blending in as a human, but deep down Harry always felt Louis was too good for this world. He fucking adored Louis, and all of his awe, his admiration, he couldn’t keep it out of his voice now.  
  
“You’ve got the whole fucking world waiting on tiptoes to hear what you’ve got to say.”  
  
Louis wasn’t shaking as much anymore. The shivers were there, but Harry had a feeling if the shower was off he’d be able to hear Louis starting to breathe evenly again. The rise and fall of his stomach against Harry’s arms was steadier now, though he still didn’t say anything.  
  
“And you don’t even have to do it with words. That’s never really been your style. There’s so much you say without them already. Even if right now it’s just to make sure everyone remembers that you do have something to say until you find your voice again.”  
  
Untangling his left hand from around Louis, he slipped it over top of their other arms, smoothing over Louis's bird tattoo by memory alone.  
  
Louis dropped his other hand from his hair to catch that hand too, tangled their fingers together the same way and squished Harry’s hand over the tattoo.  
  
“So yea, maybe you can’t go back in my mind, but if you were only in my mind the whole world would be without ‘those eyes’ and your ‘golden tongue’ and that, that just won’t do. Sorry, Lou, but _that_ is what it is.”  
  
Louis mumbled something under his breath, quietly enough that Harry had to decipher it for himself.  
  
 _Twat_.  
  
Harry grinned when it registered and he happily took the point that Louis was so very obviously giving to him.  
  
“Why thank you. I shall cherish it forever,” he echoed, putting just enough Yorkshire in his cadence to make it clear that he was copying Louis’s words, but in no way trying to mimic his accent.  
  
Louis probably rolled his eyes. Harry hoped he did.  
  
Louis straightened up then, slowly enough that Harry could shift with his movement. He leaned back fully into Harry and Harry tucked his chin over Louis’ shoulder. He couldn't quite see Louis's face, but he knew Louis was silently giving him permission if he wanted to.  
  
He didn’t need it, just rubbed his thumbs over what he could reach of Louis’s hands.  
  
“So, Louis Tomlinson, everyone in this room is all ears.” He bumped his ear against Louis’s, squeezed both his hands, and smiled softly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”  
  
For a few moments Louis didn’t say anything, but then he turned his head just enough so his forehead pressed against Harry’s temple. His cheeks were still wet with tears, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, released it just as slowly, and sank a little further into Harry.  
  
“I was thinking maybe we could do a charity footie match, put one together, or be part of one. And I want to look into more charities for kids for my cut of the tour and album sales. I can’t wait to go to your blood drive with you and I...I’ve been writing. I've some song ideas that I’ve been saving. Maybe for our next album.” He opened his eyes, looked right at Harry even with how close they were. “I want to sit down with management and get more charity events in our schedule, Haz. Visit some hospitals or set up a signing or a chance to meet One Direction, you know? We’ve got the trip to Ghana next month but there’s so many people we can help and we’ve got such a fucking chance to do it.”  
  
Harry couldn’t stop his smile, so big, so wide that his dimple was trying to kiss Louis. He didn’t need to say anything, because Louis’s eyes were open and he could see it. The electricity was shining back at him in those blue blue blue eyes and he nodded. What Louis wanted, Louis would get. And Louis rarely ever wanted anything for himself.  
  
Harry's heart kept bursting like an entire fireworks show for this incredible lad, his happy wee creature prancing around his chest and peering wide-eyed through the gap of his ribs at the solar flare soaring right in front of him. This world was so bloody lucky to have Louis and Louis’s heart was so incredibly large Harry doubted he’d be able to handle the piece he was lucky enough to have.  
  
“And Hazza?”  
  
The question was on his face, though he didn’t say anything.  
  
A soft smile wound its way over Louis’s lips, like it was always meant to be there.  
  
Because it was.  
  
Because it was turning devious again.  
  
Because now he was smirking.  
  
“I’m fucking freezing.”


	23. Chapter 23

After Louis unwound, climbed to his feet and helped Harry to stand, Harry stepped out, pulled off his soaking cardigan and tee together and dropped them on the floor of the shower. He would have lunged out but didn’t want to slip in the puddle of water, so he controlled himself but barely. His clothes hit with a wet smack and he ducked out of the bathroom to go for more towels while Louis was finally, _finally_ turning off the tap.  
  
He was definitely not allowing Louis free access to any tap again without a refresher course on proper bathing etiquette, because that etiquette was apparently as poor as his dining etiquette.  
  
He made it one step into Louis’s bedroom only to pause, finding a pile of towels on the bed and two mugs of tea waiting on Louis's bedside table. He didn’t know how long they’d been there or who had thought to bring it or how much the other lads had seen, but the tea was still warm, blissfully warm compared to his fingers, when he wrapped his hand around one of the mugs to check the temperature.  
  
He scooped up the towels, wrapped one around his shoulders and brought the others into the bathroom, holding one out for Louis. Louis was still trying to pull the sopping white pullover over his head and drop it next to Harry’s cardigan in the shower. He’d been at it for quite a few moments, but the fabric wanted to cling and was fighting with every fibre of its knitting to stay stuck to Louis.  
  
That wasn’t surprising to Harry. Everything wanted to cling to Louis and his gravitational pull: clothing, blades of grass, Harry. Hell, even the other lads on some level liked to cling to Louis.  
  
Enough of those thoughts. Once Louis wrapped the towel Harry handed him around his bare shoulders, Harry gently hip-checked him until he stepped out of the puddle on the floor. He bent down, dropped two towels over the mess to soak up the water and spread them to completely cover the wet.  
  
“There’s tea,” he said before he straightened back up. He met Louis’s eyes, had felt him watching.  
  
Louis had done just what he’d done and was just holding the towel wrapped around his shoulders to warm up a bit, leaning against the edge of his sink. His eyes were still a bit red and the tear tracks were easy to see on his cheeks because he hadn’t wiped them away yet.  
  
When he didn’t say anything, Harry stepped closer and gently thumbed over his cheekbone.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Louis met his eyes, lips parting to say something. But then he shook his head. Before Harry could ask, Louis pulled the towel over his face and scrubbed the drying tears from his cheeks. He ducked down and ruffled the towel over his hair. Dropping the towel a moment later, he righted himself fast enough to fling his hair, a devilish grin now on his lips, like he knew exactly how his hair looked right now without turning to look in the mirror behind him.  
  
It was sticking up all over the place, like he’d attempted to replicate a spiky style Lou would give him but the strands were too long now and so he decided to just fuck it and stick his finger in a wall socket instead and still look gorgeous. But that was always the case, no matter how long or short his hair was. It was certainly long enough now to make him look vaguely like one of those anime characters whose hair defied gravity. If anyone could find a way to defy gravity though, it was definitely Louis.  
  
Harry was pretty sure Louis had a hair cut scheduled near the end of the week, right before their first night of tour. Harry didn’t know whether he was happy about that or not. Right now he was leaning towards less happy, because as gorgeous as Louis was with shorter hair that was easier to spike up or wildly muss, he definitely couldn’t pull off the look he had right now, which Harry could only describe as gloriously ridiculous.  
  
Harry barked out a laugh and tugged on the single piece still clinging to Louis’s forehead, right between his eyes.  
  
“Should take a picture. This has Brit Awards all over it.”  
  
Louis’s eyes crossed while he was trying to look at Harry’s finger.  
  
“Yea?”  
  
Harry hadn’t been as rhetorical as he’d thought, because Louis slid past him, hand sliding over Harry’s waist on his way into his bedroom. He returned only a second later with his phone, which had been on his bedside table behind the teas. He paused, gaze slowly traveling up Harry’s body to his face to his hair before he arched a brow at him.  
  
“You want to go to the Brits looking like a drowned frog then?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“Mine’s curly. Won’t look as good.” There may have been a bit of a whinge in that. But he copied Louis anyway, scrabbling the towel over his hair until it was as dry as he could get it and most likely looking far more like a bird’s nest made entirely of twigs than Louis’s wall-socket anime character.  
  
Whatever Louis saw had a slow smile spreading across his face. He clicked open the camera and stepped behind Harry, pressing his chest against Harry’s back. Winding his left arm around Harry to hold him in place, Louis plopped his chin over Harry’s shoulder and held his phone up to take a selfie. Right before taking the photo he turned to Harry.  
  
Harry saw it in the camera screen and felt it when Louis’s nose pressed right behind his ear, like he knew how cold it was and was trying to warm it up.  
  
“Looks perfect, Curly,” he murmured, right into Harry’s ear, so close his lips brushed the shell and almost knocked a shiver out of Harry that had nothing to do with the cold.  
  
Harry immediately turned to look at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. The moment he did Louis looked right back at the camera and made a ridiculous face complete with wide eyes and an open mouth and snapped the picture.  
  
Harry knew he absolutely meant to do that all along. Of course he had. Louis had done the same thing at one point on Friday night. And Harry fell for it then too.  
  
He always fell for it.  
  
“Hey.” Harry definitely whinged this time, poking at the arm Louis had around him until Louis relented with another laugh.  
  
The arm Harry had been poking came up to squish at his chin and cheeks, pushing his lips together, closer to fish lips.  
  
“So needy, Haz. Alright, give us that picture-perfect pout of yours then.”  
  
Harry caught that hand and bit down, barely even a press of teeth, snagging the phone from Louis with the distraction. Not letting go of his hand, Harry flashed the camera a bright smile, complete with dimples, watching in the screen as Louis rolled his eyes and then did the same, his now phone-less hand and arm wrapped around Harry too.  
  
And yes, his hair did look like a bird’s nest, sticking up so wildly that some of it was out of the picture, but they were close enough that their hair just tangled together in one giant mess and Louis’s eyes were shining again and not really red anymore but red enough to make the blue pop and Harry couldn’t help but lose his breath.  
  
Louis didn’t move after the photo, watching Harry send the photos to himself with his lips pressed to the top of Harry’s shoulder, head angled down to watch. He only lifted his chin, bit down lightly where his lips had been, and took his phone back when Harry handed it back behind to him.  
  
Harry followed him out into the bedroom just as he was leaning over to pick up the teas that one of the lads had left for them, clearly not wanting to drag water too far around his room from his soaking pyjama bottoms.  
  
They really needed to change, but the wet pyjama bottoms still clinging to Louis’s hips and legs were not helping to make Harry’s legs want to leave the room. The extra weight of the water had pulled them down enough to reveal the black band of Louis’s Topman briefs and the blue fabric was mapping and moulding to his hips and arse just as the pullover had to his chest and arms. Harry was caught between being so grateful and so disappointed when Louis straightened up and handed him one of the mugs.  
  
He needed to remove his trigger and go change out of his own wet and still-very-cold pyjama bottoms. But there was something else he wanted more, something that he felt was fully deserved. He also didn’t doubt Louis was still feeling a bit out of sorts after such a huge release of emotion and it left him unnaturally quiet. Harry had felt much the same after his own mess out on the balcony.  
  
All he’d wanted then was a hug from Louis, but he’d still been asleep. So for some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling that Louis wanted one too but for the first time was having trouble asking for it.  
  
“So I’m looking for something,” he said, because he obviously had no control and because watching the bliss flit across Louis’s features as he took his first sip of the perfect cup of tea (sans blood this time) in three days was that beautiful.  
  
Over the rim of his mug, Louis arched a brow in question and Harry schooled his features, leaning against the bathroom doorframe and looking into his mug.  
  
“A hug. Been in the market for one for a few days now you see. But only one that’s out of this world though. Little voice in my head told me you might know where I can find one of those.”  
  
“Mm,” Louis mused, pulling the mug away and licking up a spot of tea on his bottom lip. Harry finally took a sip himself. “Not sure about that, not many aliens come round here, but I know where to find the hug of your fucking dreams.”  
  
Christ, this tea tasted so warm and so perfect. Whoever had made it was getting...something. Something big. Huge. Harry didn’t know what because he was a bit too focused on the small grin of a challenge that had just quirked up Louis’s lips. Challenge accepted.  
  
“Really?” He feigned shock and surprise and looked around behind Louis. “But I thought _you_ gave the best hugs of my fucking dreams.” He shook his head, stared sadly down at his tea again like it would give him all the answers. “Must’ve been wrong. Then again, I’ve only ever _heard_ you _supposedly_ give the best hugs on this planet after all.”  
  
Louis laughed before he could stop himself, quickly cutting it off and reaching out to flick at Harry’s side.  
  
“I do, you tit. What’s it to you?”  
  
Harry shrugged, pushed the mischief onto his face, pushed a smirk on too.  
  
“Well, how am I supposed to know if it’s true? You see, I’ve had a bit of a trying weekend and I could really use a hug, but only the best.”  
  
“And you think the best hugs on this planet come free then?”  
  
“Absolutely. The best hugs are only the ones given freely.” Harry didn’t miss a beat. Then he arched a brow at him. “But if there has to be a price for this one, I think 69 burpees is enough...unless you’d rather I just, oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged, tried not to smile, “take a point?”  
  
When Louis’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, Harry reached up and pretended to poke his dimples into place one at a time, flashing Louis the biggest, brightest dimpled grin he could. And then he even pointed at his dimples for good measure.  
  
Louis snorted and rolled his eyes, but his smile widened a bit. He set his tea down and opened his arms, the towel sliding off his shoulders as he did so.  
  
“Well come on then.”  
  
Harry’s heart beat him into Louis’s arms because he couldn’t put his mug down fast enough. He wrapped his arms tightly around Louis, careful to keep his freezing fingers curled up. The moment Louis’s arms wrapped around him in return, he squished his face right against Louis’s neck, closed his eyes and just reveled in it. Louis may still be cold to the touch, but the warmth in his body was the most glorious feeling in the world.  
  
And he was still cold himself, so the warmth was extra extra special.  
  
Louis slowly relaxed against him and he finally let out a quiet sigh before his head fell to drop against Harry’s neck in return, lips pressing against the curve of his shoulder once more.  
  
But even with his nose pressed into Louis’ skin, even though he couldn’t stop smiling and didn’t ever want the hug to end, he mumbled, not caring if Louis could actually understand it: “Still taking a point.”  
  
Louis immediately tensed against him, indignant.  
  
“No. No points.” Louis nipped at his shoulder as though that would get his point (good one, Harry) across.  
  
“Yea? And why not?”  
  
“Because these are free, you don’t get points if it’s given, you arse,” Louis muttered, not letting him go.  
  
Harry didn’t mind. He wasn’t letting go either.  
  
“Fine.” Harry waited a beat and then said, voice dripping with innocence, “You know you _did_ say I’d only carry you once. Do I get a point if you were wrong about that?”  
  
Louis pulled back as much as he could with so much righteous indignation on his face, about to pass sentence from his throne.  
  
“No. You absolutely do not, you twat.”  
  
Harry’s smile just got wider at that magic word and now Louis pushed at Harry’s arms and wriggled to break free.  
  
“Unhand me, you bloody fool.”  
  
Harry burst out laughing and only tightened his hold. Louis could wriggle and command all he wanted, but Harry knew better than to let him get far enough away now to retaliate.  
  
“No,” he mumbled instead as smugly as he possibly could, pressing his face back into the curve of Louis’s neck and shoulder.  
  
Louis huffed but finally stopped fighting and sank into him again. The press of his nose against Harry’s neck this time, now that Harry was warming up, was so cold in comparison and still a bit damp and reminded Harry of a dog. A Yorkie, perhaps. A slow smile wound it’s way over his face.  
  
“Your nose is cold. Feels like a dog.”  
  
He felt the muffled words as Louis’s lips moved against his skin.  
  
“Yea? Know what else is cold?”  
  
Louis flattened his hands against Harry’s back and Harry hadn’t paid attention enough to notice he’d been keeping his hands curled too until that shock of cold. He squawked, head flying up as he arched forward into Louis to get away from it and Louis just started laughing and held him closer like he was proving how trapped Harry was now. So Harry uncurled his own hands and pressed _them_ flat into Louis’s back, relishing in the _fuck!_ that immediately spilled from Louis’s lips as he arched right into Harry to get away and now Harry was laughing too, tipping his head forward until it bumped against Louis’s.  
  
“You started it.”  
  
“Well if someone didn’t insist on a hug right now instead of being sensible, we’d both be warmer.”  
  
“Hugs are sensible. It took 69 burpees to get this hug.”  
  
Wasn’t that the truth.  
  
Louis let go of him only to clap his palms on Harry’s cheeks, trying to look stern.  
  
“I still expect 78 next time.”  
  
“ _Next time_?” Harry couldn’t help his incredulous laughter even with Louis’s hands on his face. His hands fell to Louis’s waist, right into the dip and gripped, like it would prove his point, which he hadn’t quite yet made. “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”  
  
A slow smirk wound its way onto Louis’s face and Harry shook his head then dropped it back against Louis’s.  
  
“No. Whatever it is, no.”  
  
“But I—"  
  
“No. Nope. No.”  
  
Louis finally just laughed, squished his cheeks one more time before his hands fell away, landed back on Harry’s chest. With their foreheads still touching, Harry looked down as best he could when the chain around his neck started moving and saw Louis focused on it, nimble fingers once again fiddling with the cross.  
  
“Thanks, Hazza.”  
  
Harry knew better than to pull away to better see his face now, so instead he tightened his fingers just enough to mimic a hug.  
  
“Anytime, Lou.”  
  
Louis slid the clasp, which was down by his pendant, back up behind to the nape of his neck, leaving his hand there once he’d finished, curved around the back of Harry’s neck. His other hand released the pendant to just rest next to it, over Harry's right swallow.  
  
Still cold, already trying to suppress shivers from the tantalizing warmth of Louis’s body so close, it took everything in Harry not to shiver when the side of Louis’s thumb stroked over the swallow’s beak.  
  
Louis released a deep breath, his fingers tensing against Harry's neck and chest. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or something else, but Louis was so close again and his lips were right there and Harry couldn’t help but track the movement as Louis’s tongue darted out to wet them again. He needed to pull away but he couldn’t but he was fast losing out to his own willpower and he couldn’t do that so in a last ditch effort he tightened his grip on Louis’s waist just enough to give him a teasing rock and said, “Think next time though we can use hot water instead?”  
  
The painful yearning in his chest eased enough for him to breathe when Louis scoffed and pulled back. This time Harry let him go, flashing Louis a cheeky grin.  
  
Louis crossed his arms over his bare chest now.  
  
“What, didn’t like the cold, Sir I-Did-The-Same-Thing-Too?”  
  
Harry scoffed right back, picked up his tea and leaned against the doorframe again to give his willpower an extra boost.  
  
“No one likes cold showers, not good for the precious parts. February, remember? I just used the balcony instead.” He winked, took a sip, kept one arm crossed over his chest too, protecting two of his nipples just in case. “Little less dramatic, sunshine.”  
  
Louis watched him take a sip, eyes narrowing slightly, fingers tapping against his bicep. He licked his lips, opened his mouth two times, then finally just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He plucked his own mug up, holding it over top of the rim and taking a quick swallow between his fingers. Setting it back down again and turning away, he headed across his room to his dresser.  
  
“Go change your kit already, you tit.”  
  
Harry's gaze traveled down Louis’s back, watching his muscles shift and move as he opened the top drawer. He followed the trail of water dripping from the end of the wet strands clinging to Louis's neck all the way down to where his waist narrowed, his hipbones and the curve of his arse still only accentuated by his pyjamas and the band of his briefs.  
  
Taking a careful and deep breath, Harry grinned and pushed off the wall. That complete failure of an answer from Louis meant Louis was as out of sorts as Harry expected earlier. On his way to the door he smacked Louis on the arse with the same congratulatory flourish Louis had given his on the stage. He paused in the doorway with his tea and towel long enough to say, “That’s my point then.”  
  
Louis twisted around indignantly, hands still on his dresser, but Harry ducked out of the room before he could respond, trailing water across the hardwood floors from the soaking pyjama bottoms he was still wearing, Louis’ shout chasing behind him.  
  
“No points!”  
  
“One point!” he called back from his doorway, just across the way and to the left of Louis’s doorway, moving into his room. Their rooms were close enough that even with the doors closed they could still hear each other if they needed to. They definitely weren’t closed now though.  
  
“ _No_ points!”  
  
So now he was shouting at a disembodied voice, like the hallway had been raised in Yorkshire.  
  
“On what grounds!?” He needed to occupy his triggering thoughts to calm them back down.  
  
“That you’re a bloody tit!”  
  
“Just because I have _four_ doesn’t make me one. And don’t bring my family into this!”  
  
“Why are your _tits_ part of the family?!”  
  
“Because they’re part of me and I don’t discriminate!”  
  
“Really fucking low bar you’ve got there, you tit!”  
  
“You’ve got ‘em too, you know. Reckon that makes you a tit also, you tit!”  
  
“You’re _both_ tits but for some reason we consider you family!” A third, distinctly Irish voice suddenly butted in from somewhere to the right in the direction of the living room. “Now shut your gobs already!”  
  
Harry burst out laughing.  
  
“Love you too, Niall!”  
  
He closed the door to his room, set his tea down, and finally peeled off his soaking wet bottoms.  
  
He only half-paid attention to the clothes he put on, a little too cold to really care about his appearance much. Once he’d fixed his hair to be more presentable and hung his wet pyjamas over the shower line to dry, he sat down on the edge of his bed across from the bathroom door, folded over a bit and scrubbed his hands over his face.  
  
He needed to focus, just take a moment to breathe and resettle everything after what had just happened. He couldn’t understand why it suddenly seemed so much harder to keep _those_ thoughts at bay and his eyes from straying.  
  
Maybe because he’d downed one beer already rather quickly with only a sandwich in his stomach. Maybe because Louis knew how he felt now so his wee creature didn’t feel the need to hide it anymore. He reached for what was left of his tea from his bedside table and finished it.  
  
After setting the mug back down he rubbed over his left swallow, trying to calm his little creature back down into sleeping again.  
  
Later. After all the lads left and he was tucking in for the night and could be completely alone he’d sort it all out. But not now. Not while the other lads were still here, while they finally had Louis back. He wanted to take advantage of this moment and enjoy it.  
  
So he would.  
  
He took another deep breath, patted his chest and stood up.  
  
  


  
  
*

  
  
  
  
  
“Look who’s finally returned from his abduction,” Niall said when Harry made it back into the living room. He wasn’t sitting in his armchair this time, but rather in the middle of the sofa, Harry’s guitar once again in hand as he strummed through a tune that Harry didn’t recognize by chords alone.  
  
Harry dropped down next to him on the sofa, but before he could answer Liam walked into the room and handed Harry another beer, plopping down in the right-side armchair next to him with his own half-finished bottle. Liam’s spidey-senses were still on point, though Harry honestly had no idea how he could have predicted exactly when Harry would be coming out of his room.  
  
Liam paused with the bottle halfway to his lips, stared at Harry, then at the balcony, then back at Harry again, before he shook his head and took a swig.  
  
“I swear, it’s like you buggers plan it sometimes. Do you actually plan it? Did you plan it?” Liam motioned towards the sliding glass door.  
  
With the bottle to his lips, Harry glanced down at himself, saw nothing unusual in the plain grey tee and black jeans he was wearing. So he looked left past Niall onto the balcony where Louis and Zayn were stood facing each other having a smoke to see if he'd find an answer there.  
  
Zayn was still wearing his black hoodie from before.  
  
But instead of pyjamas and a white pullover, Louis was now wearing a plain dark grey tee and black jeans too.  
  
Seeing him in something different just felt like everything was over, it was all finally over. Louis was back. He was awake.  
  
If Harry didn’t love how those pyjama bottoms and that pullover looked on Louis, he’d donate them so he’d never have to see them again. He’d never let him wear both together again though, that’s for sure.  
  
In far more pressing questions for the universe: how could Louis possibly still have a clean pair of black jeans after the number of pairs they’d pulled out of the pile of his washing? Harry did recognize the tee as one Louis hadn’t worn in a long while, the one that was extra soft with a tie in the collar that served absolutely no purpose but to just be different and prove it was no ordinary tee, just like Louis. It was so very Louis it immediately brought a soft smile to Harry's face that quickly turned into a grin. He’d combed his hair out of the wall-socket too, the strands still damp.  
  
Harry finally took the sip from the bottle at his lips, answering Liam without looking away once he’d swallowed.  
  
“Nah, mate. Just great minds and all.”  
  
Judging from the length of their cigarettes, Zayn and Louis must’ve just gotten out there only a few minutes before Harry had come out. That was probably what clued Liam in to when Harry was likely to come out too. Whatever they were discussing must be personal between them, because their faces were close and Louis’ shoulders were tense despite the nicotine.  
  
Louis didn’t smoke nearly as much as Zayn did, but watching him bring the fag to his lips and take a deep pull told Harry just how much Louis needed it right then. After three days without feeling, after what Louis had told him in the shower about suddenly feeling everything, no wonder he needed a smoke right now.  
  
Niall followed Harry's gaze then snorted, focusing back on the guitar.  
  
“Great minds me arse. Just like you he doesn’t dress for the bloody weather either.”  
  
That quip did absolutely nothing to make Harry’s smile fall and he was only half-paying attention to what he was saying.  
  
“That’s ok. He’ll warm up.”  
  
Now his smile was bigger. Because Louis _would_ warm up. Louis was awake now. Awake and out of the shower. No more unnatural freeze, in the real world or in nightmares.  
  
“Speaking of which,” Niall strummed through an F chord then back to a D minor before he paused, long enough to glance up at Harry out of the corner of his eye. At least Harry thought that’s what he did, because he was still looking at Louis so he only saw Niall turn in his peripheral. “Feel better now that you crazy buggers have finished washing the bird shite off?”  
  
“What?” Harry half-laughed, half-spluttered out around the sip he’d been taking, finally tearing his gaze away and back to Niall.  
  
Niall leaned over the guitar to pluck up his Guinness from the coffee table, motioning with it towards the hallway to the bedrooms before drinking.  
  
“Heard from Payno here that you two made it to the bird bath a bit too literally. Feel better now?”  
  
“I did _not_ say that,” Liam grumbled, shaking his head. Judging from how he said it, he still hadn’t asked Niall what it meant.  
  
“Trust me, I know.” Harry chuckled, leaning over to clap a hand to Liam’s arm before sitting back again. “Are you the one who left us the tea and towels then?”  
  
Liam nodded and shrugged.  
  
“Figured you’d want them. I didn’t stay or see or hear anything.”  
  
Harry squinted at him, smirking. The last thing he wanted was Liam thinking they weren’t grateful, but _obviously_ that was a lie.  
  
“So it was just your spidey-senses then?”  
  
Liam rolled his eyes. Good.  
  
“Fine. I saw just enough to know you might want to dry off and have something warm to drink and some privacy.”  
  
“Mm.” Harry tipped the bottle back and forth in his hand like a pendulum, studying Liam a moment. “So spidey-senses.”  
  
Definitely those 'suspiciously-protective sensibilities'. How else would Liam have known to go check?  
  
“You’re so fucking odd,” Liam finally laughed, completely releasing the tension in his shoulders.  
  
Harry then shrugged his own, but he smiled softly.  
  
“Thanks, Payno.”  
  
Liam just shrugged and smiled back, holding his bottle over to Harry.  
  
Harry clinked his own against Liam’s then took another sip, his gaze inevitably sliding left towards the balcony again right as Louis held out a prescription bottle to Zayn.  
  
Zayn frowned, looked down and then took it, dropping it into the pocket of his hoodie. The bit Harry could see of the cap around their fingers reminded him of the white he’d seen beneath Louis’s beanie on the bed.  
  
Had Zayn left them in Louis’s room? Harry didn’t actually know what had happened after he’d fallen back asleep to get to Louis. He wanted to ask about the pills too, but he wouldn’t pry. When he thanked Zayn again the next time they were alone for all the help he’d given them this weekend, he’d make sure Zayn knew he was here for him. He remembered how upset Louis had been when he’d found out and if anyone could make sure things were alright, it was Louis.  
  
Zayn said something to Louis then reached for his arm, squeezing to get Louis to look up at him, faces so close their foreheads could touch with one more little tip. Louis met Zayn’s eyes, brows knit together and-  
  
Niall backhanded his arm.  
  
“If you want to not get caught eye-dropping, you need to at least pretend to listen to us, mate. You keep that up and you’re going to get caught.”  
  
“Can’t help it. He’s awake.” He laughed, eyes almost as wide as his smile. Louis _was_ awake. Louis was _awake_. He turned back to Niall. Niall needed to know this incredible good news. “He’s fucking awake.”  
  
Niall’s face split into a wide grin and he patted Harry’s cheek twice and somehow managed not to laugh.  
  
“Didn’t realize it meself but now that you mention it...” He gave Harry a look. “Funny enough, we know. But just because he can’t see everything you’re gawking at anymore with those green peepers of yours doesn’t mean he won’t catch you peeping at this rate. When _you_ stare, people know.”  
  
Harry rolled his green peepers and leaned sideways into Niall, letting his forehead rest on Niall’s shoulder a moment.  
  
“I wasn’t staring.”  
  
“Oh? What were you just doing then?”  
  
“Watching.”  
  
“There’s a difference?”  
  
“Yes.” Harry picked his head up to rest his chin on Niall’s shoulder instead, half-looking over at Liam who had asked that last question.  
  
There was definitely a difference. He lifted his head completely so he could take another sip. Louis was awake and it was something he didn’t ever want to take for granted again, wanted to take in this moment the way he’d logged lying in a dream stadium on the pitch with Louis in his mind, lock it up so it never went away. So that-  
  
“And that is?” Liam pressed.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Watching and staring, Haz.” Niall snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “Difference, remember?”  
  
“Oh. Can’t really explain it.” He gazed from Liam to Niall and then, inevitably, past Niall to the balcony again. “When you’re staring it’s like your eyes are there but your mind isn’t. It’s not really intentional.”  
  
Louis flicked ash from the tip of his fag into the tray on the railing, jaw clenched, frowning at something Zayn was saying before he sighed. His shoulders visibly rose and fell with a breath, then relaxed. His tongue darted out to wet his lip before he took another drag. The smoke curled past his lips with whatever he was saying to Zayn, left arm crossing over his chest to hold onto his bicep.  
  
“But when you’re watching...you’re with them, you know? You know you’re doing it and you want to, because you want to see. You want to know what they’re doing, what they’re going to do, want to just be with them from a distance.”  
  
“Well that went sap-tastic really fucking quickly,” Niall said after a few moments, clinking his bottle against Harry’s to get his attention. “You do realize most people don’t see a difference, yea? No wonder people know when you’re staring.”  
  
Harry blinked, looked back to Niall then frowned.  
  
“It’s not sappy. You do it with anyone you care about.”  
  
“Still just going to look like you’re staring.”  
  
“But I’m just _watching_.”  
  
“Fine. But you keep _watching_ and they’re going to notice.”  
  
“So? Lou’s _awake_. I’m allowed to watch.”  
  
Niall rolled his eyes.  
  
“It’s called privacy and not being creepy on this planet. Here. I’ll give you something to look at.” He set his drink down and dug into his pocket for his phone. Leaning over Harry’s guitar to use both hands, he swiped and tapped a few times before holding the screen two inches from Harry’s nose so he had no choice but to look.  
  
Harry dragged his gaze away from the balcony again and took the phone. On it was the item description page for a GPS dog tracker, worth a couple hundred quid, nothing they couldn’t afford. It was small, no larger than a thumbnail so it could be attached to even the smallest of dog collars.  
  
Niall wagged his eyebrows at Harry.  
  
“Already ordered it. Hoping it arrives at me place before Sunday, since we’ll be heading north after the show Sunday night.”  
  
Unlike the first time the device had been brought up, this time nothing stopped Harry from laughing, so he did, handing the phone back to Niall. With Louis awake and some time to become accustomed to no longer having Louis in his head, the mess of emotions wasn’t nearly so overwhelming anymore.  
  
All it took was one glance to the left to remember that Louis was back and his wee creature was prancing about again and using his lungs like a trampoline and making it a bit hard to breathe.  
  
He looked back out onto the balcony.  
  
Louis looked to his right at that moment, something soft in his eyes when his gaze met Harry’s. His head tipped slightly to the side in silent question and Harry knew he was caught so he screwed his face up into the most ridiculous look he could manage. Then Louis was grinning and mirroring him, eyes crossing and mouth opening in an equally ridiculous face right back then Zayn was looking between the both of them and he didn’t make a ridiculous face but the look on his face clearly said _you’re both ridiculous_ then Niall was backhanding his arm again while Liam was laughing.  
  
“Fucking ridiculous, mate. What’d I tell you?”  
  
Harry looked back at Niall.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Mary mother,” Niall breathed as Liam burst out laughing yet again. Harry had no idea why he was laughing though.  
  
“So we were thinking.” Niall tossed his phone the final few inches onto the coffee table, picked up his beer long enough to take a quick swallow, then set it back, fingers back on the strings of Harry’s guitar. “It’s almost 6. ‘Bout time for some food but I’m not bloody leaving until I hear from Tommo what the fucking hell happened Friday night.”  
  
“Is that your way of saying I should start making supper?” Harry asked, leaning back into the corner of the sofa so that he could look at Niall and at the same time still have a good view through the sliding doors where Zayn had just knocked Louis’s arm to pull his attention back.  
  
Harry was smart like that.  
  
“We could order sommat,” Niall shrugged. “Nando’s always works in a pinch if you ask me.”  
  
“Nando’s works no matter what, no pinch necessary,” Liam corrected before Harry could. And that was true.  
  
Harry was fairly certain Nando’s was the single most important thing to Niall, right up there with his own guitars, perhaps. The closest Harry could come to something so important to him was his journal. Which was—  
  
“Where’d I put my journal?”  
  
“What?” Liam burst out with another laugh.  
  
“Was just thinking I don’t know where it is.” Harry shrugged, tapping his bottle on the arm of the sofa. He tipped his head to the side, casting his mind back to the last time he had it.  
  
Fuck.  
  
It was probably still on Louis’s bedside table.  
  
“Here we are discussing nosh and you’re thinking about your journal? Do we even want to know how you got to that from this?” Niall asked, motioning around them, like _that_ made any sense.  
  
Harry shot him a wide-eyed look, pretending he would be surprised if Niall dared to step off that cliff.  
  
“Don’t know. _Do_ you?”  
  
Niall and Liam both spoke at the same time.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Harry laughed and stood up.  
  
“Well while you figure it out, I’m going to go save it from Lou’s room before he realizes it’s there.”  
  
Even if Louis wouldn’t look in it, Harry wasn’t prepared to offer his journal up like a sacrifice for Louis to hold hostage for one reason or another. He had no doubt once Louis saw it there he’d hide it somewhere in the flat and it would take _days_ for Harry to find it.  
  
Niall rolled his eyes but didn’t stop playing.  
  
“Well don’t take too long, mate. I’m fucking starving. Me insides are starting to congeal together because there’s nothing left in my stomach.”  
  
Niall’s stomach was already holding him hostage. Harry clapped him once on the shoulder.  
  
“Can’t have that happen. I’ll be right back then and we can figure out supper when those two smokeblokes get back in.”


	24. Chapter 24

Just as he’d expected, his journal was still lying closed on Louis’s bedside table, right where he’d left it after drawing the nails in the early hours of yesterday morning. Pausing in the doorway to his own room on the way to setting it on his dresser, he opened to that page, scanning the various drawings.  
  
He still needed to see if he could get in to have it tattooed this week. There wouldn’t be time tomorrow, but maybe Tom or Liam would be able to fit him in Wednesday. Might as well take care of that now while he was remembering.  
  
Bypassing his dresser, he sat down on his bed, set his bottle down next to the empty mug, and took a picture of the page with his phone so he could easily attach the image to an email to see if either of them would be available. He left his journal open next to him, using both hands to quickly type out the email on his phone.  
  
Something moved to his left in the dark corner by his dresser in the edges of his vision. He peered into the shadows but saw nothing. Frowning, he shook his head, shook off the odd feeling running up his spine and went back to finishing the email.  
  
He was halfway through typing it up when something moved to his left again. Startled, his head shot up towards the door to see Louis closing it quietly, holding a familiar hoodie in his right hand.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Louis turned to face him. It made far more sense that he would have startled Harry, but for some reason Harry had the feeling he’d startled Louis too.  
  
“Course, yea.”  
  
“Bet that fag felt good.” He smiled, tipping his head to the side in silent question when Louis didn’t move from the door.  
  
Louis chuckled, leaning back against the closed door and nodding. He gazed down at the hoodie he was holding in both hands now, a bit like he was carrying a textbook.  
  
“Amazing what you don’t fucking realize you can feel until you haven’t felt it for three days."  
  
Harry waited a moment, but when Louis didn’t say anything else, even after Harry looked down again at the hoodie in his hands, Harry nodded towards the door he was leaning against.  
  
“Told Niall I’d be out in a moment so we could order some supper. Have I taken too long?”  
  
“No.” Louis chuckled again, rubbed a hand over his face, shook his head. “No.”  
  
“Alright." Harry dragged the word out even more slowly than usual, before finally frowning. “What is it?”  
  
Louis looked down at the hoodie again, the sweep of his fringe hiding most of his face from Harry’s view. He thumbed at the purple fabric, the same way he'd done in the first dream at Liam’s after Harry had taken it off and given it to him.  
  
“Came to give this to you.” He finally pushed off the door with his bum, walked between Harry’s dresser and bed to stand in front of him, holding the hoodie out.  
  
Blinking, Harry couldn’t help but frown, looking past the hand holding it, following the skateboarding stick figure up to Louis’s face.  
  
Louis was looking down at the hoodie though.  
  
“Take it.” It was a command with no hard edge to it, more like Louis was hoping he would.  
  
He still wasn’t looking up, so Harry dropped his phone to his left by his journal and reached for the hoodie.  
  
“You can keep it, Lou. I didn’t even realize it was missing. You don’t have to give it back just because—”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Harry set the hoodie on his lap, trying not to let his confusion show.  
  
Louis crossed his arms over his chest, drummed his fingers against his biceps before he sat down close to Harry just to his right. He smelled crisp, like cool February air and still damp hair and cigarette smoke.  
  
“So then why are you giving it to me?” Harry asked, though carefully. Once again he wasn’t sure if he was missing something. No, he was definitely missing something.  
  
Louis pressed his lips together, still staring at the hoodie in Harry’s lap. Scratching at one of his palms, he braced on his left hand which he pushed into the bed behind Harry and leaned in. His chest pressed into Harry’s shoulder as he pulled the hood up and tossed it back like he was unwrapping a present. Then he reached into the opening at the neck and carefully slid out a plain black picture frame with glass on both sides, no backing. He set it slowly on top of the hoodie in Harry’s lap.  
  
Harry blinked, stared down at the single white flower, dried and pressed and floating between the two panes of glass with about three inches of green stem still attached. It was a beautiful piece of artwork, but even squished flat, Harry recognized that flower. His breath caught.  
  
“Lou ** _—_** "  
  
“Me mum did it.” Louis didn’t look up, but he tapped the frame, as though Harry needed to know what he meant. “I gave the flower to her but she gave it back to me like this a few months later.” He smiled faintly, eyes soft as he stared down at the flower, remembering the moment. Louis’s eyes always went this soft when he was thinking about his family.  
  
Harry hadn’t known what had happened to the flower after he’d given it to Louis. He didn’t really think about it, just figured Louis would pass it on to a lucky fan or set it out somewhere for everyone to enjoy the beauty. But it made perfect sense that he’d given it to Jay. He turned to look at Louis again, studying his profile, watching Louis focusing on the flower.  
  
“Why didn’t you show me?” It wasn’t an accusation. More surprise. This was the type of thing that Louis normally would happily show him, happily show all the lads really.  
  
For all the money they now had, Louis didn’t buy many things for himself. He preferred to spend time finding the perfect random gifts for those he cared about. So to get the perfect random gift in return, especially one worth so much more than money could ever buy, always brought the biggest smile to Louis’s face. Harry had seen it often enough, been on the receiving end of that grateful smile.  
  
Maybe not often enough though, now that he thought about it. He needed to fix that later.  
  
Louis shrugged, still staring down at the flower. He ran three fingers slowly up and down the frame like he was memorizing the feel of it.  
  
“S’pose I ** _—_** ” Louis frowned, trying to find his words, trying to sort out his thoughts. Maybe he had too many of them and they were all trying to come out at once and only ended up bottle-necking in his throat so that none could come out.  
  
Harry didn’t pry, turned his gaze back to the flower so Louis wouldn’t feel pressured, held the space open for him to sort out his thoughts even if it took the rest of the night.  
  
“S’pose I just wasn’t ready,” Louis finally said. “Had enough people commenting by then about every fucking move we made and I didn’t want anyone touching this one more than they already had. Not this fucking memory.” He shrugged again, voice getting softer, almost sad. “But I reckon somewhere in there, making sure no one found out ended up meaning you too.”  
  
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Harry started, wanting to turn a little more towards Louis just from the mere hint of sadness in his tone. But with Louis’s chest pressed into his shoulder he didn’t have much room to do so. “If you didn’t want to, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to tell me. You know that, right?”  
  
Louis finally looked up at him, eyebrow quirking up.  
  
“Spent three days in your mind, Haz. Why shouldn’t I return the favour?”  
  
“Because it wasn’t a transaction,” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Just because you saw more of my thoughts than I ever intended doesn’t mean I have the right to yours. You know I won’t ever pry.”  
  
“That’s just it though. You don’t.” Louis gently bumped his forehead against Harry’s temple twice. “You don’t fucking pry.”  
  
Lifting his head again, Louis leaned forwards, twisting at the waist so he could look into Harry’s face, which made it easier for Harry to see his face in turn.  
  
Harry appreciated that, because he was having a hard time figuring out whether or not prying was a good or a bad thing just from Louis's tone. Not that seeing his expression helped much to answer that, but he was always happier when he was looking at Louis. So he just watched Louis’s eyes move as they scanned his face, landed somewhere on his forehead.  
  
Louis reached up and brushed Harry's hair to the side, out of his eyes, tracking the movement of his fingers. They were cold again, but Harry didn’t know if it was lingering from the curse, from the shower, or from being outside just now still damp and underdressed in the February weather. Maybe all three. Louis tapped them lightly against Harry’s temple.  
  
“I was trapped in here for three fucking days with nowhere to go and no one else to talk to and even with all that power and all that chance, you never asked. There were so many things you wanted to ask but you didn’t. You never once asked why your hoodie was folded up like that in my drawer. And I know you wanted to know, because I heard you think it.”  
  
“You did?”  
  
A soft smile, still well on its way to being a smirk, quirked up the corner of Louis’s lips.  
  
“Just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t hear, Hazza.”  
  
“I don’t know whether I should be happy or horrified by that,” Harry muttered, even though that didn’t surprise him in the least.  
  
Louis’ smile turned into a smirk.  
  
Horrified, apparently.  
  
Louis looked back down to the framed flower, faces so close now that when he did his hair brushed against Harry’s nose and he had to wiggle it to stop it from tickling.  
  
“This is one of me favourite fucking memories,” Louis murmured, like he hadn’t meant for Harry to hear.  
  
“Really?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Louis looked back up at him, eyebrow cocked, smile playing about his lips.  
  
“Course it is. You groveling on your knees with a flower begging me to forgive you for pissing on me? How could it not be?”  
  
“Wait. What? I thought I gave it to you because we were both wearing Jack Wills, said something about a match made in heaven.”  
  
Louis burst out laughing, thumped his forehead back against Harry's temple.  
  
“Maybe that’s what you were thinking, but that’s definitely not what came out your mouth. Think I like that though, your match made in heaven.” He pulled back. Still braced with one hand behind Harry on the bed, Louis’s other curved around the angle of Harry's jaw, turning Harry more towards him so he had to meet Louis’s eyes. “Point is,” he said a little more quietly, “it’s one of me favourite fucking memories and I didn’t want anyone to touch it. I don’t want anyone to touch it.“  
  
“You don’t have to ** _—_** "  
  
Louis cut him off with a kiss.  
  
The soft press of parted lips against his own, closing so carefully over Harry's bottom lip was so... _gentle_. In all his dreams he'd never imagined Louis's kiss would be so quietly tender, a whisper-soft secret that his spitfire spontaneity never let the world even believe was there.  
  
Louis slowly pulled away, hovering close enough that his quiet murmur caressed Harry's lips as gently as his kiss had.  
  
“I know, Hazza. But I want to.”  
  
Harry blinked his eyes open to find Louis’s eyes closed, like he was memorizing the moment or deciding whether he liked it or whether he should have done it or ** _—_**...Harry didn’t even know. With his heart setting off fireworks into his lungs so he couldn't breathe, Harry only had one thought in his mind and it was the only one that could possibly ‘come out his mouth’ right now.  
  
“Lou just kissed me.”  
  
Louis’s eyes opened, dancing with amusement now. That perfect quirk was back in his lips, lips that were just _kissing him._ Hand still lightly curved around Harry’s cheek, he smoothed his thumb once over Harry's cheekbone.  
  
“Yea, reckon he just did.”  
  
Harry blinked again at Louis' strange choice of words, realized then that he’d forgotten to change the ‘Lou’ to ‘you’ before he spoke.  
  
Oops.  
  
He studied the open expression on Louis’s face, royal eyes shining with a hint of uncertainty that even in his shock, Harry couldn’t miss. That uncertainty was enough to break Harry out of his breathless shock. Mostly.  
  
A slow, beaming grin wound its way onto his face. He pushed the hoodie and flower off his lap somewhere to his left with his journal and leaned right into Louis at the same time. Nudging his temple against Louis’s, his hand found Louis’s jaw and drew him closer, their lips barely brushing.  
  
“Didn’t think to ask first? Ever heard of consent? It’s a thing, you know.”  
  
Louis snorted. That felt a little strange to Harry with Louis being this close. Harry had never truly felt a snort before. But if it meant Louis would always be this close, he'd never stop wanting to feel them.  
  
“You pissed on me without my consent. Think I get a free pass this one time.”  
  
Still grinning, Harry closed that last bit of space between their lips before he could think to talk himself out of it. Drawn, always drawn to Louis, his wee creature couldn't handle the rush of emotion when he captured Louis’s lips in another kiss just as soft, but a little more insistent, sliding his other hand up Louis’ side then back down again to grip at his waist through his shirt which was just as soft as Harry remembered.

It took everything in Harry to pull back to that same tantalizing space.  
  
“Do you need a demonstration on how to do it then?”  
  
He managed to keep the words much lighter than the grip of his fingers over Louis' side, needing the grounding to remember that this was real.

Louis tongue slid out to lick his bottom lip, both hands now cradling Harry’s face so he couldn’t pull away. Harry almost felt the brush of his tongue and he tipped forward, needing to kiss Louis again before Louis's cheeky words stopped him.  
  
“You think you can give me one?”  
  
Harry still nearly kissed him right then, only to remember that that was the wrong demonstration. He pulled back just enough to look into Louis’s eyes then down to his lips, his thumb smoothing over Louis’s bottom lip. The stubble on Louis's jaw rubbing against Harry's palm made his lip a satin caress over the ridges of his fingertip.  
  
“I want to kiss you again,” he breathed, trying and failing to make it sound as sappy as possible. It just sounded breathless this time.  
  
He also realized he’d completely messed up that consent thing too. Probably why Louis was asking if he could be the one to give the demonstration. Or something. What? He had no idea what he was thinking anymore. Oh, he knew. Louis had kissed him.  
  
Louis had kissed him.  
  
Louis’s eyes were shining, lips curving up beneath Harry’s thumb.  
  
“And who says you can?”  
  
Well, Harry definitely could. He just did. But that wasn’t the point. Harry tapped his lip with his thumb.  
  
“Well, that’s the part where you come in. See? Words. Have to say yes.”  
  
Louis lightly bit his thumb, then knocked it aside with his chin to get at Harry’s lips, muttering against them, “Just fucking kiss me, you fool.”  
  
King Louis indeed.  
  
Wait.  
  
Harry paused, then laughed and groaned at the same time.  
  
“You did not just—"  
  
“Oh yes, Harold, I did just. But if it makes you feel better, I didn’t intend to.”  
  
Enough of this. He knew what would make him feel better best and bestest.  
  
Sliding his hand from Louis’s jaw to the nape of his neck, Harry's fingers tangled in the still-damp strands as his lips finally found Louis’s again. This time he poured all the love and awe he possibly could into it, tongue sliding along the seam of Louis's lips until that ever-present smile opened and let Harry in.  
  
Tightening his grip on Louis’s waist, he pulled Louis closer. A moan wound its up way up from his throat and got lost against Louis’s mouth when Louis twisted further over his lap.  
  
Their lips parted and reconnected, the kisses deep enough now that Harry felt the scratch of stubble over Louis’s upper lip against his skin. Louis’s hands on his face never let him go too far, never let him go.  
  
When a quiet moan caught in the back of Louis’s throat Harry surged forward, needing to keep tasting now that he’d had a taste and Louis let him, let Harry push him onto his back.  
  
With their lips still connected, he could only follow as Louis scooted back until their legs were on the bed too. Twisting at the waist, Harry hovered over Louis from the side, hand forced to leave Louis to brace against the bed.  
  
It was only when he couldn’t get enough air by trying to breathe without fully breaking the kisses that he finally pulled back from those intoxicating lips. His forehead once again fell to rest against Louis’s to keep them connected somewhere. He opened his eyes, only to forget how to breathe all over again.  
  
He should be used to that by now.  
  
But he didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Louis like this beneath him, cheeks faintly flushed and lips parted as he caught his breath too, so pink, bordering on red, wet and slightly swollen.  
  
And when he opened his eyes, opened those too-fucking-blue eyes and looked up at him. Well, Harry had no chance.  
  
“Fuck you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, ducking in for another kiss before Louis could say anything.  
  
Louis’s fingers wound into his hair, the pads pressing against his scalp, keeping him there like Harry might actually want to be anywhere else, tugging and pulling and drawing Harry’s lips right where he wanted them.  
  
Tightening his grip on Louis’s waist, he broke the kiss a moment later, breathing heavily.  
  
“What...what made you change your...Why...why do I get—”  
  
He really should have asked that way sooner. But. Louis. Lips. Kisses. Louis kisses. Fuck. Louis kissed him. Fuck. He was kissing Louis.  
  
Louis just smiled, soft and close-mouthed, reaching up to stroke the curls from his eyes as he struggled words put to proper into question his.  
  
“Because you were right, you tit.” With both hands back in his hair, Louis tugged, tried to get Harry back down to meet his lips. “Because I fucking want you too.”  
  
Louis arched up from the bed enough to catch his mouth, using the kiss to push Harry back until he rolled over and Louis was hovering above him on all fours now.  
  
Harry's hands fell to clutch onto Louis’s thighs, right above his knees, when he swung his leg over Harry’s hips, straddling him without touching.  
  
Louis broke the kiss, eyes closing even as Harry opened his own to look up at him. He smoothed his hands slowly up Louis’s thighs to his hips, watching him.  
  
Louis licked his lips, opened his eyes again, looked down at Harry.  
  
He squeezed, tugged, silently begged Louis to close the distance between them but Louis didn’t move.  
  
Louis never moved unless Louis wanted to move and Harry fucking loved that about him. Instead Louis straightened his arms, bracing on the left so he could wipe the spit from Harry’s bottom lip with his thumb, eyes focused on the movement.  
  
“You were fucking right. On the fucking stage in our last memory.”  
  
“Memory? Which—” The last time they’d been on the stage together that Harry could remember outside of his dreams was when they were at the O2 for their rehearsal for the Brits tomorrow. He couldn’t remember saying anything then. He blinked up at Louis when Louis started chuckling. Wait. “You mean in the dream?”  
  
“You still don’t you get it, do you.”  
  
Louis’s elbows bent as he leaned down enough to nip at Harry’s lip, press a kiss to the corner.  
  
“I was awake, Haz. I was awake for every one of them. They’re all memories to me. It was all real. For three fucking days physics didn’t work, shit didn’t make sense, things that were fucking impossible happened. It was like living in a fucking world where magic was everything." He bumped his forehead into Harry's and added, "Which I reckon isn’t far off for your mind, is it.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak but Louis kissed him again, slowly, softly, telling him to stay quiet.  
  
“It was all fucking real. _You_ were fucking real, Hazza." He stayed close enough that Harry felt Louis's words against his lips. "Everything was fucking real except the one thing that could have been a long fucking time ago.”  
  
He pulled back enough to look into Harry’s eyes again. Louis’s voice was softer now, matching the look in his eyes.  
  
“It doesn’t matter if I didn’t think about kissing you until after someone asked if we had. That I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you should have told me how I fucking felt, but apparently I needed a really sexy alien from the fucking love planet to help me get there.”  
  
His gaze fell to Harry’s lips, fingers smoothing so tenderly over them that Harry almost closed his eyes. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to miss a single fucking moment.  
  
“It is what it is." He dropped his forehead to rest against Harry's again, eyes sliding closed. "And fuck if I didn’t almost kiss you right there on that bloody stage.”  
  
Jesus, Louis Tomlinson was going to be the death of him.  
  
He’d always known that, actually.  
  
But it was still true.  
  
Harry slid his fingers into Louis's hair and cupped the back of his head, held him there.  
  
“Why didn’t you?”  
  
Louis’ smile softened even more, went a little sad.  
  
“Because it wouldn’t have been fair to you. Because you fucking deserve better than that.” He dropped back down to his forearms on either side of Harry’s head, almost like he was cradling him, fingers finding their way back into Harry’s curls. “Because I don’t ever want you to think that I’d kiss you just to make you stop crying.”  
  
Harry was pretty sure one of these times he’d stop breathing and forget how to start again.  
  
Actually he was pretty sure this might be that moment.  
  
He slid his arms around Louis, trying once again to draw him down and close that final little space between them.  
  
Louis still didn’t move, so Harry did the only thing he could think of that might work, barely able to keep the emotion out of his voice.  
  
“Well if you don’t fucking kiss me now I’m going to start crying.”  
  
Actually, probably not the best idea.  
  
Louis’ soft smile turned into more of a smirk now and Harry could almost see the gears turning and he groaned, arched up to try and get closer to him.  
  
Actually, also probably not the best idea.  
  
He forgot to add in the part in all his fucking daydreams where Louis was a bloody tease in bed. Big mistake.  
  
So he caught Louis's lips in a deep kiss, about to flip them over.  
  
Louis anticipated it. He dropped the rest of the way over Harry, the perfect weight against Harry's chest, their hips finally connecting and Harry just might start crying anyway.  
  
His hands slid down to grip Louis’s hips, released, dragged up beneath Louis' shirt and over the warm muscles of his back then back down again, hovering just at the waistline of his jeans. The tips of his fingers just dipped under before trailing back up again.  
  
Louis's breathing hitched between kisses and Harry forced himself not to buck or arch off the bed into Louis. Louis’s muscles fluttered and flexed beneath his fingers. His body followed every time Harry smoothed his hands over his skin, arching further into Harry, chasing the touch.  
  
Minutes, hours, days, probably only seconds later, Louis broke this kiss, their lips parting with a wet smack.  
  
“Jesus, I’m not a fucking prude, Haz,” he panted against Harry’s lips, squeezing his thighs tight around Harry’s waist and reaching behind to shove Harry’s hands all the way down and over the curve of his arse. A shaky breath spilled from them both when Harry’s fingers immediately gripped him through his jeans.  
  
“Really?” Harry panted right back against his lips, talking so that he didn’t lose himself in the utter bliss of a delayed gratification that felt years in the making. “So you don’t just collect—"  
  
“Your fingers have been further down me throat than your fucking tongue,” Louis muttered, dipping his own tongue teasingly into Harry’s mouth before murmuring against his lips, “That really how you want to use it right now?”  
  
Harry groaned, one hand leaving Louis’s arse to bury in his hair and pull him into a proper kiss. He shoved his tongue exactly where he wanted it to go until it pulled a low moan from Louis. He jerked back because he had to, to breathe, to _not_ lose himself in the perfect fucking weight of Louis's body against his own. He kneaded the flesh of Louis’s arse now in a desperate attempt to keep himself from rocking into Louis.  
  
“You can’t just fucking say shit like that without a fucking warning.”  
  
Louis looked down at Harry's lips and slowly licked his own, eyes dark. They were so close Louis’s tongue grazed Harry's bottom lip before he murmured, “Why? Thought I was being appropriately dirty at an appropriate time.”  
  
Harry groaned again, couldn’t keep it in, though he tried.  
  
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”  
  
Even though he was panting, Louis still grinned, nipped Harry’s lip, bit down, tugged, let go to ask, “Is it working?”  
  
Squeezing Louis's arse with both hands, Harry shoved Louis’s hips down and his own up, grinding them together. A hoarse _fuck_ spilled from Louis’s lips and Harry barely bit back his own moan, just enough to manage words.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“Fuck,” Louis panted again, pulling back and leaning up over Harry with his hands gripping the duvet on either side of Harry’s head. Head hanging, he looked between them to where their hips were connected. He rocked into Harry, ground down against him, trying not to but couldn’t help himself. His eyes fell shut and he bit his lip at the pleasure.  
  
Harry’s neck arched back against the bed.  
  
“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” he choked out, trying to stop all the blood in his fucking body from racing south to where they were connected.  
  
“I haven’t felt _anything_ like this in three days and I haven’t had a fucking wank in more than three days,” Louis half-gasped, dropping back onto Harry with another low moan, forehead falling to Harry’s shoulder. He bit down on Harry’s shoulder through his shirt, then let go to say, “Should have fucking thought about that before you fucking moved, you arse.”  
  
“Well why do you think I didn’t touch your _arse_ , you arse?” Harry shot back, groaning a bit too much himself when Louis ground down against him again. He met him halfway, the glorious friction fast becoming too much to pull away from. “Fuck, I’ve been holding myself back from you for fucking years, Lou.”  
  
Tearing one hand away so he could bury it in Louis’s hair and pull his head back up to steal his lips, Harry pressed that same palm flat into the small of Louis’s back right as Louis's hips started rocking forward again, pinning him down.  
  
With Louis’s tongue trying to find the back of his throat, he gripped Louis’s thighs while he was distracted and flipped them both left so he was on top. A small sound dragged from Louis’s throat when his back hit the bed, legs still bent up around Harry’s hips.  
  
Louis's thighs gripped his waist, their hips slotted together, the four layers of clothing between them too much and he ground down into Louis helplessly. He broke the kiss when Louis immediately arched up beneath him, the friction so glorious that Harry almost sobbed.  
  
“Later. Later, Lou. Later, ok? Once the lads go home.”  
  
“Won’t be a later if you don’t save me arse first.” Louis's voice had gone hoarse and breathless too. He arched further into Harry then dug beneath himself and dragged something out from under his bum. He flopped back down, holding Harry’s open journal in one hand. Breathing heavily, the both of them looked over at it, then Louis smirked.  
  
“If this is your definition of hiding your journal from me, Ha—"  
  
Harry crashed their lips together again before Louis could finish that sentence, sliding his fingers teasingly down the inside of Louis’s arm. When he reached his journal, he plucked it out of Louis's hand and closed it. Only then did he break the kiss.  
  
“Even I’m not thick enough to hide something where everyone can’t stop looking.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Everyone? Or just you.”  
  
Harry smoothed his thumb over that brow, the back of one knuckle rubbing over the scruff on Louis's jaw.  
  
“Maybe not everyone, but definitely not just me.”  
  
Because there were definitely more people in this world. He wasn’t alone in admiring Louis’s arse, that’s for sure. He wasn’t even alone with Louis in their flat right now.  
  
Shit.  
  
It took everything in him but with one more deep kiss, he quickly sat up off Louis and rolled right this time, sat fully on his bed again with his legs over the side. He clearly had the willpower of a fucking saint, English saint maybe, like Saint George if he’d decided not to slay and instead kissed the fucking sleeping dragon back to human to steal all his treasure.  
  
Because fuck, he did kiss the sleeping dragon back to human, didn’t he? And now all Harry wanted was his fucking treasure.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry had told Niall he wouldn’t take long. The other lads wanted to know what had happened Friday night, deserved an explanation after giving up their entire weekend to help Louis. Hell, they probably wanted a chance to spend some time with Louis now that he was awake again too. Who was Harry to be so selfish right now when he’d had Louis mostly to himself for three days?  
  
Still lying on the bed next to and partly behind Harry, Louis straightened his left leg out so his knee pressed against the small of Harry's back. Propping himself up on one elbow, he tipped his head to the side, studying Harry.  
  
Talented fingers smoothed up Harry's spine over his shirt.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Harry didn’t want to pry, told Louis that he wouldn’t. Louis didn’t have to tell him anything if he didn’t want to, but something about Louis’s last response to his prying kept niggling at him. He remembered his own desperate screaming in Louis’s face when he woke up from the nightmare, begging to know why Louis had chosen the whole thing, remembered asking Louis later on the stage before Louis could even tell him.  
  
“Haz?”  
  
He bit his tongue. He remembered the moment in Louis's memory when Louis had turned after he’d left with Liam. The mess of emotions on his face reminded Harry of how he’d looked when Harry had confessed how he felt to him in the nightmare, how-  
  
“Wh—"  
  
“What happened, Lou?” he breathed, staring straight ahead through the open door into his bathroom.  
  
Louis’s fingers on his back stopped, palm pressing flat. It felt so much like a question that Harry explained before he said anything, turning his head to look at Louis.  
  
“When you chose the curse. What happened?” When Louis’s brows furrowed, Harry shook his head, pushed curls out of his face and held them away by keeping his hand in his hair. “I know I said I wouldn’t pry but—...In the memory, what you didn’t remember about... and it was only after you—....fuck, I can’t help but think, you didn’t choose it because—"  
  
“I didn’t choose it because of you,” Louis cut in quietly, shaking his head and gripping at Harry’s shirt like a reprimand. “Don’t even start to try and take the fucking blame for this, Haz.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes through a deep breath, opened them to stare down at Louis’s left hand and arm still propping him up.  
  
“So what happened then?”  
  
Louis pushed out a deep breath through his nose and flopped back to lie flat again. He deliberately stared up at the ceiling like the ceiling could help him both sort out his thoughts and then help him to actually speak them.  
  
Harry knew how difficult it was for Louis to speak when people were looking so he eased himself further out of Louis’s vision by leaning against his headboard. His right leg pressed flat along the length of Louis’s left, which was still outstretched. He dropped his hand to rest on Louis’s ankle, letting his pinky rub over the screws tattooed on his ankle bone, keeping them connected and staying quiet. He didn’t want Louis to close up, not now.  
  
“I didn’t—...It wasn’t because—...When—...fuck. Fuck.” Louis shoved his hands over his face, the frustration welling up in him. Harry could hear it in his voice but also feel it everywhere they were touching. Finally he smacked his hands back on the bed, still staring up at the ceiling, and sighed. “Just ask me a fucking question.”  
  
Harry tightened his hold on Louis’s ankle.  
  
“It’s ok, you don’t have to—"  
  
“No, _no_. Fuck. That’s not—...I know I don’t, remember?” Louis sat up on his elbows again, long enough to look at Harry, jaw clenching. “But I fucking want to. I just don’t know where to fucking start, alright?“ He fell back to the bed again, pushing out a breath. Scrubbing his hands over his face he added more softly, trying to control his own frustration, “So just ask me a fucking question, ok?”  
  
Of fucking course. Harry was so fucking lucky that Louis had enough presence of mind to point out his own stupidity, because Harry should have known better than to shove a proverbial stage beneath him, shine fifty fucking bright lights in his face and then just sit back and expect Louis would feel comfortable.  
  
If this didn’t prove how much Louis wanted to explain, Harry didn’t know what would. His pinky started rubbing over Louis’s ankle bone again.  
  
“Ok.” He cast his mind back, trying to decide what to ask, how best to help Louis. “After I left,” he began, once he felt Louis start to relax under his touch, “when you were done dancing. You looked—” He shook his head, not wanting to try and name what Louis was feeling. It didn’t feel right to him. “You said you were done dancing. Why were you done dancing?”  
  
Louis snorted, eyes closing.  
  
“I was done with more than just fucking dancing, Haz. I was fucking done with everything. Fucking done with finally having a great fucking night out with you and the lads and spending the whole fucking night wanting to fucking dance with you but hating that I wanted it and hating that when you did dance with me it was to fucking tell me you were fucking _leaving_ with Liam when you never fucking do that so you must’ve had a bloody reason to leave but I didn’t fucking know what because it was one of the best fucking nights I’ve had in such a long time with you and I thought you were having one too but when you left you had that fucking look on your face like you didn’t want to go but you were leaving anyway so it had to have been fucking because of me, because of all those fucking comments everyone won’t stop making about us and that must’ve been why you stopped fucking wanting to go to any fucking parties with me but I only made it fucking worse because I fucking wanted it but didn’t fucking want it because how could I know if it was what I actually wanted or just all these bastards planting fucking thoughts in our heads because they couldn’t just shut the fuck up and leave us alone but none of that fucking matters anyway because no matter what I fucking say no one believes me so why should I fucking bother anymore and I was done, Haz, I was so fucking _done_ , I—"  
  
Louis cut off and rolled to the opposite side of the bed, legs over the side as he dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his thighs.  
  
“Fuck. Fuck.” He kept repeating the word, trying to calm himself down again.  
  
He’d spoken so quickly, even more quickly than his usual lightning-fast cadence that Harry was having trouble processing how much had just spewed from him like the emotional vomit it was. Louis had spoken so quickly that it must've been a speech Louis had himself given over and over, an internal monologue stream of consciousness that was everything he’d been thinking when Harry had seen that look on his face in the memory.  
  
It was instinct when he climbed over the bed to Louis and wrapped his arms around him from behind.  
  
“Come here, come here, Lou.” He drew Louis slowly out of his hunched over position and against his chest, knowing it was ok because if Louis didn’t want it, he wouldn’t have let Harry move him. The moment he sat back Harry ducked his face into Louis’s neck so Louis knew Harry wasn’t trying to make him look. The tension had Louis wound up so tightly that he was almost shaking, like a spring about to pop and explode.  
  
Louis forced himself to take several deep breaths through his nose, fists clenched.  
  
Harry didn’t move, gave him all the time he needed.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he finally pushed out.  
  
Harry lifted his head only enough to not muffle his words.  
  
“For what?”  
  
Louis dropped his head back on Harry’s shoulder, scrubbed a hand over his face.  
  
“For fucking putting all this on you.”  
  
“But I want to know, Lou.”  
  
“No, I mean—" Louis shoved out another breath, frustrated with himself again. “Fuck.” He flopped both hands back into his lap, stared up at the ceiling. “That still fucking sounded like I did it because of you. But you weren’t...you were just...was just the last fucking straw, I guess.”  
  
“What was?”  
  
“Dancing with you. Finally fucking dancing with you and choosing to just let myself fucking love every fucking minute of it only to find you came out just to tell me you were fucking leaving. Dancing with me was a fucking obligation just so you could tell me you were leaving. You had no fucking choice but to leave. Neither of us had any fucking choice, even in a club full of bloody strangers."  
  
His jaw clenched.  
  
"I could scream at the whole world about anything and everything and it wouldn’t fucking make any difference. It hasn’t made a difference in so fucking long.”  
  
Louis finally turned his head to the side to press his forehead against Harry’s cheek, hand twisting into Harry’s hair to keep him there.  
  
“So I stopped trying months ago. I didn’t want to fucking deal with it anymore, especially not that night.” He huffed a breathless laugh, his next words strained. “It hurt, Haz. It still fucking hurts just remembering it, feeling like I didn’t even have a voice anymore. I’m a singer for fuck’s sake, it’s my whole bloody existence yet I couldn’t use me fucking voice to get anyone to hear me. I just...I just wanted to fucking forget it all and not feel, just for part of a fucking night. Just one fucking night.”  
  
“And that’s exactly what happened,” Harry murmured against his neck.  
  
Louis nodded. He sank a little further into Harry and Harry tightened his hold, accepted more of Louis's weight against him.  
  
“When I remembered that I chose the curse, I knew there had to be something I didn’t want to remember about that night, knew it was probably whatever made me choose the fucking curse in the first place,” he admitted, hand falling to rest over one of Harry’s around his waist. “Knew I’d have no choice but to remember it too if I was going to break the fucking curse. But I didn’t fucking want to.”  
  
Harry pressed a tender kiss to Louis's neck when he felt Louis tensing back up again. He knew how hard triggering thoughts could be. Even though Louis was talking about the past, it still would take so much time for them to no longer be a trigger anymore. Harry knew how hard it was when those triggers couldn’t be ignored anymore. It’d happened to him when the curse was finally broken, after all. Even his words hadn’t helped him then. And he at least had his list of words. But Louis—  
  
“That’s what happened earlier, isn’t it." He lifted his head, touched his lips to Louis’s temple, still giving him the option to keep his face turned away. “When you needed a word.”  
  
Louis’s eyes closed at the press of his lips, but he nodded again.  
  
“Felt it all so much fucking worse the second time round. Just the thought of hugging you brought me right back to that fucking moment." His voice went dark, caustic. "Ended up right fucking back where I started. Run so fucking far from that moment only to end up right back where I fucking started.”  
  
Lifting his head, he used the hand in Harry’s hair to find Harry’s lips with his own before Harry could say anything. The kiss felt a little desperate, like Louis needed to replace just the memory with something different before it could trigger him, something to prove that it was over.  
  
“And then you, you fucking beautiful alien, come in and make me feel like the fucking centre of the universe even here in the real fucking world.”  
  
“That you didn’t know you are the centre of the universe until you were in my fucking mind is my fault,” Harry confessed, holding Louis close like he was something so fucking precious. “Because you are.”  
  
Pulling back, Louis twisted enough in Harry’s arms to rest their foreheads together. Opening his eyes to look right into Harry’s, a small smile was playing about his lips again, like the kiss had worked.  
  
“And what if it’s the other way round?”  
  
The words sounded vaguely familiar. Harry’s smile widened and he curved his palm around Louis’s jaw, drawing him in for another kiss.  
  
“I think I can handle being at the centre of the actual centre of the universe.”  
  
Louis rolled his eyes, but only after pulling back far enough to make sure Harry saw it.  
  
“You’re such a fucking cheese, Haz.”  
  
Harry shot him the cheesiest grin he could, which, he was happy to announce, could be pretty fucking cheesy.  
  
Louis just shook his head and turned away, letting his head fall back to Harry’s shoulder.  
  
Not that that deterred Harry in the slightest. He looped his index finger in Louis’ shirt and tugged it sideways, drawing the collar with its decorative tie away from his neck and shoulder. Lips immediately finding the newly-bared skin, he trailed a line of soft kisses along the curve of Louis' shoulder and up his neck.  
  
Louis shook slightly in his arms when he chuckled, fingers carding back through Harry’s hair, not pulling or tugging though.  
  
“Couldn’t fucking resist, could you?”  
  
“Nope.” Harry pulled back only far enough to say that and pop the ‘p’ against Louis' skin. Louis's chest expanded against his arm as he took a slow breath.  
  
“Was wondering how long it’d take you.”  
  
The tease was definitely there in Louis’s voice and Harry knew what was coming next.  
  
“Sinful, huh?”  
  
“Mm.” Harry let go of Louis with his left hand so he could comb his fingers through Louis's hair, drawing it away from behind his ear. Louis’s head tipped to the side from the gentle touch, baring more of his neck.  
  
“Especially right here,” Harry murmured, finally, _finally_ pressing his lips to that precious spot right behind Louis’s ear. He smiled into the kiss when Louis’s breath hitched and his fingers twitched against Harry's scalp.  
  
“Wanted to kiss you right here when we were dancing,” he breathed, gently tonguing the spot and then blowing over it.  
  
Louis shivered. His fingers tightened in Harry’s hair again, this time pushing him closer.  
  
He combed more of Louis’s hair out of the way. Louis’s eyes had closed.   
  
Harry kissed a line over the soft skin of Louis's neck to his ear.  
  
“Maybe I’m not the only one who thinks it’s sinful." He continued adding more kisses, head bumping a little when Louis snorted quietly against him.  
  
“Maybe some of us just think it fucking feels good.”  
  
Harry nipped lightly then tongued over the spot, sucking gently, tasting him.  
  
Louis’s breath hitched again, fingers rubbing against Harry's scalp and drawing a quiet moan from Harry.  
  
He lifted only enough to look where his lips had just been, the spot wetter and darker than the rest of the skin around it. He covered it with a tender kiss, said _you’re beautiful_ with his lips, before kissing slowly up Louis's neck again.  
  
“Wanted to dance with you too,” he murmured, voice going as tender as the last kiss, lips brushing over the shell of Louis’s ear as he spoke into that precious spot behind his ear again. “Wanted to dance all fucking night with you. Didn’t want to leave you.” He clutched Louis closer to his chest, combed his hair away from his neck again. “Never want to leave you. Want to go to every fucking party with you and spend every fucking moment with you because they’re always the best fucking moments of my life.”  
  
Louis’s breathing quickened. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.  
  
“Why didn’t you?” His hand curved over Harry’s on his chest, holding it in place much as he was holding Harry’s head to his neck.  
  
“Because you’re my trigger." Harry nuzzled his nose against Louis's jaw, the words soft, but truthful. "Because I can’t trust myself to stay in control of how I feel about you when I’ve been drinking.”  
  
“And then people would start talking." The faintest hint of darkness had reappeared in Louis's voice, enough to make Harry shake his head and press another soft kiss to his neck.  
  
“I don’t fucking care what people say. I care about you. What you think. What you say. And I didn’t think you wanted it and I wasn’t about to ruin what we have by putting that on you.”  
  
“Hazza, I—” Louis’s fingers twitched just a wee bit in his hair.  
  
Harry pressed another kiss to his neck and squeezed him gently to let him know he was listening.  
  
Louis hesitated again.  
  
“When you said I’d rather prove the rest of the world wrong than have feelings for you...you were fucking right about that too.”  
  
Harry pulled back in surprise and Louis almost immediately turned to face him again, a muted desperation in his eyes.  
  
“But—"  
  
Louis shook his head, held his face and kissed him before he could finish.  
  
“I didn’t realize I was doing it, but it’s exactly what I was fucking doing. And I just—” Louis sighed, rested his forehead against Harry’s temple, “-I just need you to know that. I wouldn’t...I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry. I wish it didn’t take hearing it from you for me to get that.”  
  
Harry pushed out the stale air that had been collecting in his lungs and drew Louis in for another kiss.  
  
“I’d go through it again if I had to.”  
  
“Jesus please fucking no,” Louis half-laughed against his lips, having picked up the faint tease in Harry’s voice just as Harry knew he would. “Once is fucking enough.”  
  
“Good. Because even if I would,” Harry grinned, “I’d rather not.”  
  
“Fucking Christ,” Louis breathed, shaking his head, still holding Harry’s face in both palms, “we’re so fucking stupid.”  
  
Harry started to chuckle but Louis decided now was time for kisses and Harry agreed. He wrapped both arms back around Louis to help keep him twisted sideways, Louis’ shoulder digging into his chest.  
  
He brushed the fringe out of Louis’s eyes when they broke apart to catch their breath.  
  
“What’re you going to tell the lads?” he asked as Louis’s eyes closed from the tender touch.  
  
Louis shook his head carefully so he didn't dislodge Harry’s fingers.  
  
“The rest of the fucking world has no right to any of this, but the lads do. I’m not going to lie to them, Haz. I don’t want to.” His eyes opened and he smiled, halfway to a smirk. “Though maybe I’ll be better at explaining it after this practice run.”  
  
“Not every performance is better than the rehearsal,” Harry pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows.  
  
Louis rolled his eyes, but his smile got a little bit wider. He rubbed his hand down Harry’s chest then back up again, patting lightly.  
  
“Leave the pep talks to me from now on, pumpkin.”  
  
Harry laughed, catching Louis’s face in his hands, watching him, smoothing his thumbs over those high cheekbones, taking in the electric blue of his eyes, that smile he loved so fucking much.  
  
He could do pep talks as well as the rest. To prove it, he started innocently singing Mickey by Bonnie Tyler, the first song that popped into his mind looking at this gorgeous lad and something his mum listened to all the time when he was younger. He was just enough above a whisper for Louis to hear it but to think he wasn’t supposed to. And he changed out one very important word.  
  
 _”Oh Louis you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Louis, hey hey hey Louis...”_  
  
“Jesus Christ, we can’t take you anywhere,” Louis breathed, rolling his eyes again and shoving at Harry’s shoulders hard enough that he fell back against the bed. Louis twisted completely in his lap, straddling his waist and following Harry down. He caught Harry’s lips in a deep kiss before he could keep singing.  
  
Pulling back two kisses later, he peered down at Harry, checking to see if that had worked.  
  
Harry just grinned, smoothed the fringe out of Louis's eyes again and cupped his cheek.  
  
 _”So come on and give it to me any way you can, any way you wanna do it I’ll take it like a man...”_  
  
Louis groaned and captured Harry’s lips again in a deeper kiss than before.  
  
“You’re ruining the mood,” he muttered, obviously trying not to smile against Harry’s lips. “I’m feeling a bit, mm—" he licked over the seam of Harry’s lips, “—lascivious, right now.”  
  
Harry burst out laughing but Louis had pulled back right before he did, like he knew exactly what Harry would do.  
  
“You sure it’s not my singing that’s got you feeling lascivious?” he barely managed to get out, cupping the back of Louis’s head and pulling him down into another deep kiss before Louis could answer with something that would no doubt earn him a point.  
  
Louis did still manage to answer though. Harry just got to decide for himself what the low moan that welled up in the back of Louis's throat meant. He finally settled on _just fucking kiss me, you tit._  
  
So he did.  
  
And this time, as the kisses got deeper and Louis’s fingers wound further into his hair and Harry's hands found their place around Louis’s waist, beneath his shirt and _not_ on his arse right now thank you very much, Harry very much forgot the rest of the song. He was too busy trying not to get lost in the utter perfection of Louis’s lips on his, Louis’s weight over him, so fucking warm and so fucking alive, a bloody solar flare burning Harry from the inside out.


	26. Chapter 26

Niall snorted.

Liam cleared his throat.

Zayn scratched his nose and shared a look with the floor.

Niall pointed at the two of them after they’d rounded the end of the hallway into the living room.  
  
“From now on, you lads either make sure you’re in the Hall of fucking Mirrors in Versailles, or you come see one of us before you go out in public.”

Harry took in the fading flush in Louis's cheeks, the muss of his hair like someone had just been grabbing at it for the past ten minutes, his lips kiss-swollen and very red. With no product in his hair anymore, they were just fluffy strands tousled every which way and he looked utterly breathtaking, not that that description was anything unusual for Harry. Louis always took his breath away.

He had a feeling he didn’t look much different. When Louis turned to look at him, blue eyes tracking his features before he smirked, Harry knew he was correct in that assessment.

Niall might be on to something there.

“You always look like that.” Zayn pointed at Harry and wiggled his hands around his hair like he was motioning to how big and crazy Harry’s curls probably looked right now.

“Hey.” Harry pouted. He rubbed over the messy curls sweeping straight across his forehead.

And Louis, the twat, just shrugged. Probably because he'd been turning Harry's hair into a wild mess long before there was snogging to go with it.

Zayn pointed at Louis, “You? No.”

“Wanker.”

Louis ducked his head down, shook his hair out, pushed his fringe to the side and straightened back up again.

“No, that definitely didn’t work this time. I’ll fix it.” Niall bounded up from the sofa and launched himself at Louis, throwing an arm over his shoulders and ducking him down in a headlock. Scruffling his knuckles over Louis’s hair, he completely messed it up far worse than Harry ever could as he started dragging Louis towards the sofa.

“Oi! Unhand me, you fucking heathen!” Louis’s voice came from somewhere around Niall’s chest, half-lost in everyone else’s laughter.

Harry did absolutely nothing to help him, because Louis was a twat.

“You’re the bloody heathen,” Niall laughed, dragging Louis further into the room before letting him go when Louis found one of his nipples at that moment. Louis had an uncanny ability to do that even without proper looking, like he just knew where they were.

Uh. Well, actually yes, Harry, he would. Because nipples tended to be in the same place on everyone on this planet. Good job, top form.

It was going to be a long time before his mind stopped with the snarky comments and the Northern cadence, wasn’t it.

“You have so much fucking explaining to do,” Niall was saying when Harry blinked and looked up to find Louis flopped onto the sofa now, his hair an absolute tangled mess.

Harry almost felt bad and wanted to go fetch him a comb. But while Louis was trying to push the strands out of his eyes this time, he looked over at Harry. Their eyes met and Harry’s feet locked in place. He much preferred this view.

Before anyone could answer Niall, Louis’ stomach answered for them, gurgling loudly enough and long enough like it was trying to explain. It sounded like a wailing whale slowly plunging to its death off the top of a cliff.

How? Harry had no idea, but it was the first image that came to mind. They all burst out laughing again.

He could be nice and say they’d only come back out because they had the lads in mind, but some odd minutes into snogging Louis’ stomach had growled almost just like this, so loudly that Harry had burst out laughing against his lips. He wasn’t surprised. Louis hadn’t anything to eat since Friday night, after all. And that was three days ago.

“Someone’s hungry,” Liam chuckled, raising one eyebrow.

“That’ll be because I haven’t fucking eaten in three days,” Louis quipped. He’d given up trying to fix his hair. Even though he was sprawled over his side of the sofa, his hands hadn’t stopped moving. They kept rubbing over the fabric of the sofa, a pillow, the edge of one of the blankets, memorizing the feel like he needed the anchoring touch.

“That’s what you get when you get the prank of the fucking century trophy,” Zayn muttered.

Harry groaned, throwing a hand of blame out at Zayn.

“Don’t give him that! Take that back.” He glared at Louis, who looked far too smug. “You did not earn that trophy. This doesn’t count.”

Louis's hands didn't stop moving, but he smirked.

“Why not? According to Zayn I just did.”

“No, he said you got it, not that you earned it.”

“Just because he likes me more—”

“He doesn’t like you more we’ve been over this.”

“Pretty sure he likes me more.”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t.”

“So how many points do you think this one’s worth?”

“None. And if you think you’ll be getting away with any more pranks—"

“You don’t stand a chance, Haz.”

“That’s what you think, but you have no idea—”

“You both realize Liam’s always been my favourite, right?” Zayn deadpanned, not moving at all except to slowly rub his pressed-together thumb and first fingers along the arm of the armchair. It looked far more like a warning than what Louis was doing. He glared at Harry the moment Harry looked at him.

“How about you go fetch the next round and some nosh for Tommo, hm?” Niall added, also giving Harry a pointed glare and shaking his bottle like he was ringing a servant bell.

Liam leaned over to the coffee table, picked up his bottle, held it up to peer through the glass.

“Definitely empty.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Liam pushed the bottle into his hand since he was stood close enough to Liam’s armchair.

“You’re already standing,” he pressed, giving Harry a too-sweet smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes but he took the bottle, tucked it under his arm as he crossed his arms over his chest. As he crossed through to the kitchen doorway, he made sure his mutter was loud enough for Liam to hear.

“Conniving burpee bastard.”

He could hear them all laughing and joking in the other room while he grabbed more drinks out, as well as a bowl, the milk, and a box of Coco Pops from the cupboard. No need to get into Louis’s emergency stash, they had plenty already.

But the same couldn’t be said for everything else. Shaking the milk container, he opened it and peered inside, frowning. He estimated enough for two bowls of cereal for Louis and no tea tonight unless they popped down to the shop. Best put that on the list. And more beer. Not more Guinness though. Niall deserved a pigeon, not a Guinness.

Leaving the lot of it on the worktop, he turned to the island and pulled off the top sheet of the pad of paper. Starting to crumple it up before tossing it in recycling, he paused, staring down at the familiar five symbols scrawled across the page. Frowning, he set the paper down and smoothed it back out. Even if it was just going in recycling, he couldn’t crumple something that meant so much to him.

Sighing, he left it lying on the island and sat down to quickly scribble down a list of foodstuffs they needed to get before he forgot.

Strong arms looped over his arms and chest from behind, tightly enough to stop him from jumping too far because he was startled. A stubbled chin hooked over his left shoulder. Louis spoke before Harry could ask what he was doing in here.

“You weren’t lying about that, were you.”

Harry looked up just enough to see Louis’s face, wondered how long Louis had been in the kitchen before coming over.

“Hm?”

Louis leaned into him so he could reach the piece of paper, picked it up and, keeping his arms around Harry, held it in front of the both of them with one hand. The other curled over Harry’s chest so his palm rested flat, thumb gently rubbing as he studied the paper.

Covering Louis’s hand on his chest with his own, Harry again studied the mess of squiggles and circles covering the entire paper that had morphed into a sequence, dark and bold because he’d kept tracing over it when he’d ‘wigged out’ an hour before falling asleep, an hour before the nightmare.

**@978/**

If he’d known then where he and Louis would end up, he doubted Niall would have been able to calm him down at all. He would have stayed awake until he died from sleep deprivation. His fingers clenched around Louis’s just from remembering a flash of that darkness, clenched enough for Louis to straighten and turn his head to rest his lips against Harry’s temple. Harry heard him inhale, then exhale. It did a lot to loosen the familiar tightness that had started to close around his heart.

“Really does mean something to you, doesn’t it. Saw it all over your mind.”

Harry didn’t quite nod, didn’t quite shrug, but he knew Louis felt them both and got it anyway. He couldn’t exactly lie about that. Didn’t need to, didn’t even want to.

Louis thumbed at the corner of the paper as he studied it, just as he’d thumbed at the paper Cassie had given him before throwing back the drink.

“Saw it on the lighter too.”

“Mm.” What could he say? He could hardly deny it. Didn’t realize Louis had been with him enough when he’d had the lighter to notice it though.

Louis finally released the paper and leaned further over Harry’s shoulder to peer into his face.

“You know exactly what it means, don’t you.”

Harry smiled at that and gave more of a committed nod, loosening his hold on Louis’s hand so he could slip his fingers between Louis’s and squeeze.

“Never said I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“No I didn’t.”

Louis’s eyes narrowed at that and Harry knew he was studying him, casting back to the first time he’d asked about it, but Harry just focused on writing down the rest of the shopping list. Once he set the pen down, Louis gave his hand two teasing squeezes back.

“So what does it mean?”

“Hey.” Harry put on his best pout. “How am I to be a mysterious man of mystery if I have no secrets?”

Louis nipped at his ear, already grinning.

“You’ve never been a man of mystery, you’re a fucking alien who makes no bloody sense.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes. One can keep secrets. And that’s not what you are.”

“I have plenty of secrets.”

Louis kissed his jaw.

“No you don’t.”

Harry leaned back further into Louis’s embrace. Louis shifted behind him to so easily take his weight. If Harry wasn’t careful he’d never get back up again. He’d been missing the feel of Louis’s arms around him, Louis’s chest against his back for days now.

“You asked me to prove it to you before. So what if I tell you one of my secrets now?”

“Like what the numbers mean?”

“Technically there’s also symbols, not just numbers.” When Louis rolled his eyes (Harry couldn’t see it, but he just knew he had), Harry said, “a different secret.”

“Like what then?”

Harry looked over at Louis, stroking the backs of his fingers over the underside of Louis’s jaw as he pressed his forehead to Louis’s cheek.

“How about my favourite thing about your voice? Seeing as you’ve just found it again?” he murmured, keeping his words deliberately soft and innocent.

Louis arched his eyebrow.

“You have a favourite part of me voice?”

Harry grinned.

“I do.”

Louis’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he decided Harry was innocent and non-threatening enough.

“Alright, let’s have it then.”

Harry knew his eyes had gone soft again as he looked up at Louis. He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

“My favourite part of your voice is how you don’t let anything take away your accent, so everyone always knows where you’re from,” he murmured.

Then he opened his eyes and looked up at Louis, smile widening to show teeth and dimples.

“Until you say ‘croissant’ like you’re sneezing and have Tourette’s at the same time and you sound like the French chef in Little Mermaid has been trying to impersonate a Brit for the past 800 years.”

Louis pulled back, actually pulled back enough to stare at him and it was so fucking precious and so fucking priceless Harry was going to log this moment in his memories for the rest of his fucking life.

Louis was fish-mouthing and finally fucking speechless. Harry doubled over with the laughter he could no longer hold back and nearly fell off the stool, cackling loudly enough that Niall actually called from the other room to ask what the fucking hell Louis had just done.

“He didn’t do an—" Harry started to call back and that’s when Louis seemed to come back to himself.

“You cock-faced white-arsed...“ He hadn’t found his powers of speech enough to finish that insult, so he dove at Harry instead, but Harry was already folded over himself so his dick and all four nipples were quite safe. Louis did put up a good fight though.

Harry didn’t uncurl again until Louis had given up and just folded over his back, dropping most of his weight onto Harry and forcing him to fold over further.

Not that Harry minded. He'd already told Louis once before that he didn't weigh enough to crush anything after all. Besides, Louis’s chest against his back was going to feel perfect no matter what. So he stayed just like that until finally Louis turned his cheek on Harry’s back and held him as best he could, his cheek pulled up in a smile against his back.

Louis lifted his head and pressed his lips right between Harry's shoulder blades.

Harry couldn’t help it if his eyes closed at that. Slowly, Harry straightened back up, careful not to lose Louis’s arms around him, but also careful to hold them in place against his chest just in case Louis tried anything.

Louis didn’t, surprisingly. Instead he pressed a lingering kiss to Harry’s cheek, then said against it, “So what do I have to do to find out what the numbers and symbols mean?”

Ah, that’s why he wasn’t trying to retaliate.

Harry tried not to smile but couldn’t quite manage. He’d had Louis hearing his every thought for three days, in all his dreams, with the sequence vomited all over the place, and somehow he had managed to keep it a secret.

He felt ridiculously accomplished.

Maybe, just maybe, he could keep a secret from Louis. He’d been sent in here because the other lads didn’t trust him to not blurt it out right then and there, but suddenly keeping the GPS tracker a secret from Louis seemed much more doable.

He could stare right into Louis’s blue eyes right now and say _I’m pinning a dog tracker to all your clothes_ all he wanted in his mind and Louis was just smiling right back at him, waiting for him to answer.

When Zayn took their bets, he was definitely going to add a couple weeks to his estimate now.

“Mm. Maybe if you earn enough points I’ll tell you,” he said once he got his smile back under control. Tell him what he didn’t specify. Maybe a clue.

“Enough points?” Louis pulled back enough to study him skeptically, but then he shrugged, like that was the easiest thing in the world to do. “Alright. How many points then?”

Harry tipped his head to the side, let it rest against Louis’s as he thought about it. But then he gave a very solemn nod.

"Only one number will do.”

“Yea? And what number is that?”

Louis straightened back up and loosened his hold as Harry twisted on the stool to face him, arms resting on Harry’s shoulders now as he looked down at him.

He had to look up at Louis from this position, his head at more of a level with the ‘78’ tattoo hidden beneath his shirt than his face.

Harry blinked.

He hadn’t even realized the coincidence until now: the number tattooed on Louis’s chest was also in the sequence.

He was starting to wonder if anything was truly a coincidence anymore. Looping his arms around Louis’s waist, Harry pulled him closer, trapping Louis between his knees so he could press a tender kiss to Louis’s chest, over his shirt, over his heart, over the tattoo, slow enough that Louis looked down at him. One arm left his shoulder and fingers were carding into his hair a moment later.

Leaning back slowly, Harry made sure Louis could see just how solemn he was before he tapped Louis's chest right where his lips had been.

“78.”

“What?!” Louis scoffed and laughed at the same time. He was so good at that really.

“What? Is the great Louis Tomlinson worried he can’t win that many points? Thought that’s how many burpees you wanted.”

Louis just scoffed this time, no laughter.

“Course I can win 78 points. It’s not about my success rate but the amount of time that’ll fucking take.”

“Mm. You’re right. 78 is far too low.” Harry bumped his forehead twice against Louis’s chest, then twisted enough to look back at the paper. Smirking, he tapped the three middle numbers. “978 points it is then.”

Louis was very much unimpressed now.

“Pretty sure you know that’s not what I meant."

“Pretty sure I don’t care.”

Louis cupped his jaw and turned Harry back to him. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss as soft and open-mouthed to Harry's lips as their first, just as tender, but far more teasing. He wasn’t going to try to stop smiling, even to kiss, and wanted Harry to feel the smile on his lips. He pulled away just far enough to smooth his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks.

“How many points was that?”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a small peck.

“None, you twat.”

“Well that’s one point there.”

“No. None. You do not get points if I call you a twat. I get points if you call me a twat.”

“Oh so now the rules only apply to one of us?”

“You’re not changing the rules now just because it suits you.”

“Rules are always meant to be changed if they’re outdated.”

Harry snorted.

“Try telling that to our MPs.”

Louis grinned, dipping down for another kiss.

“Well if I’m supposed to change the world, should add that to me fucking list, yea?”

“Hey.” Harry dragged the word out, frowning up at Louis. “Don’t say that like I was just taking the piss. I wasn’t.”

Louis thumbed over his lips, curved them up at the corner like he could smooth out the frown back into a smile. He could. He did. And once he did, he stole another slow kiss, whispering against Harry’s lips, “I know, Hazza.”

Pout definitely gone, beaming dimpled grin now.

Harry tugged Louis closer and closer until Louis finally figured it out and straddled his legs, sat down in his lap. He rubbed his palms slowly up and down Louis’s thighs and then up his back beneath his shirt. Face caught between warm palms and tipped back so Louis could bend down and reach his lips, each soft kiss was a little deeper than the next until Harry was well and thoroughly lost.

Harry swore the air was zinging with electricity when they finally pulled apart to breathe, Louis’s eyes closed as their foreheads fell together. He was fast losing control and from the flush on Louis’s cheeks he didn’t think Louis was doing much better.

Louis’s eyes opened and locked on to his, flit down to stare at his lips, hands still cupped around his jaw. Louis licked his lips, leaned in, breath hot against Harry’s lips and—

“Fuck, you look like a fucking puffer fish.”

Harry burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, pulling back and reaching up to thumb at Louis’s lip.

“Better than a blue-eyed guppy.”

“Green-eyed guppy,” Louis corrected, trying but completely failing to look stern. With his hair mussed and his lips swollen he looked out of a fucking sex ad. “You lose a fucking point for insult stealing, you know that.”

“But I didn’t know it was you yet. So technically it’s not stealing if I still thought it was my own mind.”

Louis kissed him again, like that would silence Harry.

“Fine. You give me five points and I won’t take a point for your obvious thievery.”

Harry laughed against his lips.

“Five points, huh? Why, is someone...losing his touch?”

Louis groaned, dropping his forehead to Harry’s while Harry mentally gave himself three points, two for the double-pun and one for Louis’s reaction.

“Because I’m fucking impatient, you tit.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Changed me mind. I’m just going to give meself fifty fucking points on the grounds that you’re an arse.”

“A) That’s not in the rulebook and B) it’s just A.”

“Didn’t you give yourself a point on the grounds that I was an arse earlier, you fucking hypocrite?”

“One point. Not fifty.”

“Well you’re fifty times the arse I am.”

“Well you have fifty times the arse I do.”

“Your arse isn’t that fucking nonexistent, Haz.”

“That’s—"

Louis cut him off with another kiss, tongue plunging straight into Harry's mouth, like literally tying Harry’s tongue up with his own would stop Harry from—

“Mary mother help us all, they can’t even shut up long enough for a proper snog.”

Louis froze on top of him and Harry opened his eyes just in time to see Louis’s eyes narrow then flick towards the kitchen doorway. Harry looked too and found the other three all standing there, Zayn shaking his head, Niall obnoxiously dragging a hand down his face and Liam trying not to laugh as he leaned against the outside of the doorframe.

“You voyeuristic wankers fucking have laptops you know. There’s a category and a guest room for that,” Louis pointed out, straightening up but not getting off Harry, very comfortable on his new fucking throne.

“Well if you two snogged like bloody normal people and not like fucking aliens we wouldn’t have thought it safe to come in, suspicious silences and all,” Niall shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And you are in the kitchen,” Zayn added, motioning into the room. “Not exactly a private space.”

“Well, least we know why it’s taking you so long to get something so simple as drinks and cereal,” Liam commented, tipping his head to the side and staring somewhere behind Harry and Louis towards the cupboards.

“Alright alright.” Harry laughed. His hands slid down to rest above the swell of Louis's arse. The island blocked the action from the other three though. “Keep your pants on, lads. Drinks are coming.”

“Of the five of us,” Zayn mused, “that would seem to be more your problem than ours.” He looked at the other two to see if they agreed and of course they did, because they both nodded, Niall snickering at that.

Louis’s eyebrow arched at them and Harry could only shake his head. He could see the gears turning at the gauntlet the other three had just unwittingly thrown down.

“That so, wankers?” Louis stared straight at them and made of show of pulling his shirt off.

“Ok, we get it!” Liam said when half of Louis’ stomach was revealed to Harry’s hungry eyes. Harry had a feeling it was the look on his face that got Liam, because Louis taking his shirt off was hardly cause for concern. “Just don’t take too long, ok?”

Louis dropped his shirt back down, looking quite pleased with himself. His smug smirk and wink at Harry only confirmed Harry’s theory. But Louis flicked the other three off for good measure as they left the room and Niall’s comment was loud and clear.

“And he calls us voyeurs? Bloody exhibitionists, those two.”

“Wankers,” Louis grumbled, tipping Harry back up and sealing their lips together, picking up right where they left off.

Then his stomach grumbled, agreeing with Louis and sounding like it was mimicking Louis's ‘wankers’ and Harry snorted against his lips, broke the kiss to break out laughing again. The look on Louis’s face as he tried to stay annoyed and not give in but also unable to help but admit how hungry he was didn’t help at all.

“Come on,” Harry managed, pecking Louis's lips one more time before he stood up, slowly enough that Louis could slide off his lap.

Louis huffed, but he nodded, pulling back to cross his arms over his chest and lean against the island.

Harry set about grabbing the drinks and pouring Coco Pops into the bowl he’d already pulled out. He glanced over his shoulder at Louis as he reached for the milk and paused.

Louis’s arms were still crossed over his chest, but now he was frowning, staring intently to the right into one half-shadowed corner of the kitchen behind the dining table.

“What is it?”

“Hm?” Louis blinked and looked back at him, shaking his head to clear it. “Nothing.”

Harry frowned too, glanced left past the kitchen table into the corner, but he didn’t see anything in the shadows. Pushing away that odd feeling again, he set the milk down and moved to stand in front of Louis. He smoothed the line out from between Louis's brows that had appeared.

“Why didn’t you stay with the lads anyway?”

Louis made a face, like the answer should be obvious.

“Because I’m fucking famished.”

Too obvious.

“Alright, and the main reason?”

“That is the main reason.”

“No it isn’t.”

“What, I can’t want food first?”

Harry dropped his gaze to Louis’s crossed arms, trailing a finger over his bird tattoo.

“But you knew I was in here getting it, so what is it?”

Louis shrugged, said casually, “Dress rehearsal included you.”

Included him as the audience, perhaps, but he wasn’t part of the performance. Not that this was a performance. He’d made the mistake the first time of shoving the proverbial stage beneath Louis’s feet and had seen how well that had worked. But the lads definitely wouldn’t do that. Yet he could feel the tension in Louis’s arm beneath his finger and he frowned.

“This isn’t a performance, Lou. You’re not giving a speech or anything. You...you know that, right?”

Louis scoffed.

“Of course I know that.”

“No I mean,” Harry tapped his chest, over his heart, but nodded at his forehead. “You know it up there, but here. Don’t turn this into something big. It’s just bird shit, right?”

When Louis just shrugged again, Harry rested his hand over Louis’s crossed arms.

“What do you think the lads are going to do?”

Louis shrugged yet again and Harry gave him a look.

“Lou.”

Louis sighed, glanced down at Harry’s hand on his arm. Standing this close, the action bumped his forehead against Harry’s nose and half-shielded his face.

“Don’t know. All this shit I put you lot through this weekend, just doesn’t feel like I have a good enough fucking reason for it.”

“Hey. What’d I tell you? If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for us.”

Louis snorted, pulling back to shoot him a look.

“But you’re an alien, Haz. No one thinks like you do.”

Harry kissed him gently.

“Trust me, I know for a fact I’m not alone in this.”

Louis made a noise, so uncommitted it just sounded like he was filling the space. That hardly made Harry believe that Louis believed him. He thumbed at Louis’s cheek to get his attention.

“So you think they’re going to judge you? Stick your heart on a scale and weigh it against a feather?”

Louis rolled his eyes.

“Who does that.” He uncrossed his arms just enough to poke a finger into Harry’s chest, unbalancing Harry enough to rock him back on his heels. “Obviously that’s not balanced.”

“So stop pre-judging the lads.” Harry flicked his extended arm in retaliation, then caught that finger in the loop of his thumb and first finger, miming a wank. “A certain wanker we know told me we’ve got enough people putting fucking words in our mouths, we don’t need to do it too.”

Louis's finger was a bit cold again, leaving Harry sorely tempted to catch his hands and warm them in his own.

Louis snorted, pointer finger curling to stop the movement of Harry’s hand and catch his finger instead. His shoulders relaxed so quickly when his free hand curved around the edge of the island to brace him that Harry felt Louis had just replaced the tension with guilt.

“Definitely a wanker. Why’d he tell you that?” Louis asked before he could comment, studying Harry’s finger. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip in small circles, trying to keep from smiling so he could pull off the motion as innocent when it was clearly anything but.

“Because that’s exactly what I was doing when he said it,” Harry admitted, refusing to lie. He curled his free hand around Louis's hipbone, held on. “And it wasn’t fair to you.”

Louis frowned, index finger tapping against the island as he studied Harry.

Catching Louis’s jaw in both hands, he leaned in and stole another kiss, slow, tender, like he could take away any remaining hesitation. He started to pull away before he could get too lost in kissing Louis, but Louis’s hand wound around the back of his neck and tugged Harry back, pushing their lips together again in a far deeper kiss.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever be able to deny Louis something like this and what little willpower he had poofed away. He leaned into Louis, matched Louis’s intensity.

Louis’s other hand left the island and slid down Harry’s side to the small of his back, then over his arse, tugging him closer until their hips connected and they both moaned.

Harry had nowhere to go but further into him. His hands slid down Louis’s back to prop him up even as he leaned into Louis, bending him back slightly over the island and into his hands.

He was very certain by now that only air would ever be able to stop them once they got this far. Breaking the kiss to breathe against Louis’s lips, their breaths mingled and he dropped his forehead to Louis’s, gripped him tightly and pulled him back up against his chest.

It was Louis who caught his breath enough to speak first. The hand still on Harry’s arse squeezed. He flashed Harry a smirk.

“See? Hardly nonexistent.”

Harry rolled his eyes and pecked at his lips, like that would ever make Louis stop talking.

“Never said it was.”

“B—"

Harry pecked his lips.

“I—"

Harry pecked his lips again.

Louis shot him a look.

“Y—"

Harry kissed him again, grinning into it this time and holding it until Louis sighed and returned the kiss. This time Harry didn’t let it get further than that. He combed still-tangled strands out of Louis’s eyes, tracking the movement of his fingers before he pulled away completely.

“Come on.”

Louis followed him this time when he moved back to the worktop, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist from behind. His lips pressed to the back of Harry's shoulder and he watched as Harry poured the right amount of milk for Louis into his bowl of cereal. Louis let go when Harry turned and placed the bowl in his hands.

Harry slid open the drawer for a spoon and paused. Then he grinned and grabbed out one of the large serving spoons, turned and held it out to Louis.

“Here you go.”

Louis stared between Harry and the spoon but didn’t say anything. The look on his face obviously was saying _what the fuck?_.

Fuck, Harry was so fucking happy he could see Louis’s facial expressions again.

Harry grinned with dimples this time and pushed it against Louis’s chest until Louis took it.

“You’ll be able to eat faster, it’ll look ridiculous, and besides, that’s you.”

“What?” Louis was trying to keep the laughter out of his voice and just sound incredulous, but he didn’t quite manage.

Harry wiggled his eyebrows, kissed Louis's cheek, plucked up the milk and box of Coco Pops then turned. He stepped into the living room, Louis's voice following after him from the kitchen.


	27. Chapter 27

“Harold!” Louis appeared in the doorway to the kitchen right as Harry rounded the sofa and set the items on the coffee table. The other three turned to look at him in the doorway but Louis was focused on Harry. “What the fuck are you talking about ‘that’s you’.” He mocked the last phrase in a slow, deep voice. “This is just a fucking big spoon.”  
  
A beat of silence passed before the other three started snickering, then Harry crossed his arms over his chest, gave Louis another eyebrow wiggle, and said, “Exactly.”  
  
Louis just stared between the four of them, then looked down at the spoon. He rolled his eyes and groaned, falling dramatically back against the doorframe.  
  
“Took you long enough there. Keep up, Tommo,” Liam said, complete with air-quotes for the second part, like Louis needed the reminder that Liam was mocking him.  
  
“How can I keep up with something that’s obviously too fucking far behind?” He looked up at Harry as Harry walked past him into the kitchen to grab their drinks in a giant bundle in both hands. “I’m _eating_.”  
  
“Hi, eating, I’m oops!-not-being-big-spoon-again-for-the-rest-of-the-century. Nice to meet you.” Harry held up the drinks as he passed to mime a handshake before handing the drinks out and setting Louis’s bottle on the coffee table.  
  
“But I’m _eating_.”  
  
He looked up at Louis and cross his arms over his chest again.  
  
“So? You got little spoon all weekend.”  
  
“Well no one said you had to. Besides, not like I could _feel_ it.”  
  
Harry tipped his head to the side. He distinctly remembered three different people stopping him from letting Louis go at one point, including Louis.  
  
“Sounds like a personal problem.”  
  
Louis brandished the serving spoon at him from across the room.  
  
“You’re a fucking personal problem.”  
  
Harry shot him a winning smile.  
  
“That’s true. I am. Specifically yours.”  
  
“Jesus,” Louis breathed, shaking his head. He rolled his eyes and disappeared back into the kitchen, but not before Harry saw him trying to hide a smile, followed by the laughter of the other three.  
  
Harry heard the drawer open, the clink of spoons and what sounded like a hip-check to close the drawer before Louis reappeared and strode into the living room, already shoving a normal spoon with a too-big spoonful of cereal in his mouth.  
  
Rounding the sofa, Louis plopped down in his spot on the left side next to Niall. His mouth was so full when he spoke that they all had to translate.  
  
“Don’t fucking whinge if you get milk in your hair.”  
  
Harry was going to get milk in his hair and it definitely wasn't going to be an accident.  
  
“Better than bird shit.” He winked then darted down and made himself comfortable on the floor with his back to the sofa and Louis’s legs a comforting touch on either side.  
  
Louis glanced down at him over the rim of his bowl.  
  
“I haven’t forgotten, Harold.”  
  
“Really?” Harry shrugged. “After this weekend I can’t tell what you’ll forget anymore.”  
  
“I’ll never forget that you’re an arse.”  
  
“Just a pain in yours.”  
  
“You wish you were a—"  
  
“ _So_ ,” Zayn cut in, making himself comfortable in the armchair closest to Louis. “What happened?”  
  
Louis snorted, shoved another spoonful in his mouth and muttered around it.  
  
“When?”  
  
“You know when.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“Tommo.”  
  
Louis shrugged, looked down at Harry and his cereal at the same time.  
  
“Worth a shot.”  
  
“Fine then.” Niall sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, even with Guinness in hand. “What happened when Haz was barking like a baby fucking seal?”  
  
“Nothing,” Louis said quickly, “Don’t encourage him. Proper mad, this one.”  
  
“ _We_ are definitely not the ones who encourage his madness,” Liam pointed out, with a pointed glance at Louis to complete the look.  
  
Louis shoved another spoonful in his mouth, poking around his bowl.  
  
“Exactly. I obviously do a fucking good job of that on me own.”  
  
Harry immediately started grinning and Louis shot him a warning glare. He opened his mouth to speak and Louis dropped his spoon in his bowl with a clatter, squeezed his legs around Harry and dropped a hand to cover his mouth.  
  
“Clearly nothing,” Zayn remarked, slow grins winding onto the faces of the other two.  
  
Harry just sat with Louis’s hand over his mouth, poking his tongue every so often to lick his palm with the same amount of pressure he'd used on Louis's neck earlier. Louis’s hand kept twitching, but he showed a remarkable amount of control and didn’t pull away.  
  
“Alright, well what happened Friday night then?” Liam asked curiously. He took a sip, then added, with that same too-casual-to-be-casual, “Why’d you choose the curse, Tommo?”  
  
Louis huffed in a breath, huffed it right back out, stared up at the ceiling.  
  
“Fine.” He pulled his hand from Harry’s mouth, wiped it off in Harry’s hair then picked up his spoon again, shoving another spoonful in his mouth. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you wankers.”  
  
Harry managed to keep the innocent look on his face and not immediately start grinning. He dropped his head back on the cushion to look at Niall over Louis’s thigh.  
  
“I just told Lou my favourite thing about his voice. Not my fault his reaction made me laugh.”  
  
Louis snorted around his spoon.  
  
“Lack of reaction you mean, you tit.”  
  
Niall sat forward, holding the bottle in both hands, elbows on his knees.  
  
“And what, pray fucking tell, would that be, Haz?”  
  
Harry took a slow drink, swilled the ale around in his mouth before swallowing. Staring at the label, he tried not to smile when Louis started to shift one of his legs against him like he was trying to figure out how to nudge, kick, and poke him at the same time. He threw his arm over said leg so his armpit was resting over Louis’s thigh just above his knee.  
  
“That he doesn’t let anything get in the way of his accent. Always gonna make sure everyone knows where he’s from." He shrugged, said the words as idly as possible. He flicked his gaze up to Zayn, who had leaned forwards in the armchair to raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugged again. “Until he says _CROISSANT_ ,” he burst that out in a half-snort, half-bark, as obnoxiously as he could.  
  
Liam choked on his drink.  
  
The other two started chuckling and by the time Harry finished explaining it Liam had completely lost control of the sip he’d been taking and had to shove himself forward and try to catch what spilled out of his mouth and was dribbling down his chin onto his shirt. Niall barely got his Guinness on the table before he rolled straight off the sofa and into the space between the coffee table and the sofa. Zayn fell sideways over the arm of the armchair and somehow kept his beer upright.  
  
While the other three were still lost in laughter, Louis dropped the spoon in the bowl and held it aside so it wouldn’t spill. He folded over and looped his arm around Harry’s chest, quite high up his neck to whisper just above Harry's ear, in the most threatening tease Harry had heard from him yet, “If you think I’m fucking letting you get away with this tonight when they’ve all gone...”  
  
Harry felt the heat immediately wanting to pool south and he wrapped a hand over Louis’s arm, leaning back enough to put his lips right beneath Louis’s, his innocent grin turning devious.  
  
“If I don’t show up for the Brits tomorrow I’m sure the lads will know who to blame.”  
  
He deliberately flicked his gaze from Louis's eyes to his lips and back again, slowly licked his own. He tipped back to get closer to Louis's lips when Louis tracked the movement of his tongue, fingers curling into Harry's chest.  
  
Niall sat back up then, actually wiping at his cheeks as he stood and crawled onto the sofa, shaking his head.  
  
“Fucking hell, you fucking do sound like that, mate,” he gasped, flopping onto the sofa and reaching for his beer.  
  
“I think,” Zayn took another breath and waved his hand once, “that was worth this whole weekend.”  
  
“Good,” Louis said shortly, glaring at Zayn as he tore himself away from Harry and sat back up.  
  
Zayn held up a finger.  
  
“For Harry. Not for you.”  
  
“Wanker.”  
  
“Jesus,” Liam finally said, taking one more deep breath, holding it, then releasing it when he was sure he was fine. “I don’t know how your points system works, Haz, but that’s worth a lot.”  
  
“No, it’s not.” Louis immediately glared down at Harry. Harry just grinned, took another sip.  
  
“It’s alright, I won’t take any points,” he promised, patting Louis’s leg to console him. “I’m not the one who needs them after all.”  
  
“You lot really are the sorriest excuses for mates,” Louis muttered, brandishing his spoon at them all one at a time, finishing with Harry by dipping his spoon in the milk and then flicking the spoon at Harry. “Especially you.”  
  
Well, he had been expecting milk at some point.  
  
Least it wasn’t bird shit.  
  
Harry leaned back to look up at Louis, still smiling, but it was a little bit softer as he winked. “But I thought we were the best bloody thing to ever happen to you?”  
  
“Jesus fuck.” Louis groaned, sagging back against the sofa. “I regret my decision to let you see that already.”  
  
“What?” Niall looked between them in confusion.  
  
“Is that something from Friday night?” Liam asked curiously. “What happened?”  
  
Harry took a sip of his drink then dropped his head back again to raise one eyebrow at Louis. He was trying not to smile, especially when Louis realized that he’d walked himself straight back to where he’d started.  
  
Louis scrunched his nose back up, deliberately not looking at Harry. He dunked his spoon into the bowl with more force than he needed so it kept making little dinging sounds against the bottom.  
  
“Wouldn’t know where to begin,” he muttered after deciding that stalling was not in his best interest.  
  
Harry always thought Louis was quite brilliant like that.  
  
“I’d recommend first thing you remember,” Zayn commented idly, the single raise of his eyebrow the only sign of his thoughts on how quickly Louis was eating the bowl of cereal.  
  
Louis paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, looked up, narrowed his eyes like he was thinking about that, then looked back down at his bowl, swirling the cereal as he chewed. Based on how Louis had struggled sorting it all out to tell Harry, Zayn’s idea was more difficult for Louis than Zayn probably realized.  
  
“Alright, well how about just what happened?” Liam chimed in after they'd all watched Louis focused on clinking his spoon around the bowl long enough that it'd started to sound like a rhythm. “Just give us the play by play first?”  
  
Louis paused then pointed down at Harry with his spoon and said with his mouth full, “You can take that one.”  
  
Harry twisted to look up at Louis this time.  
  
“What? Why me?”  
  
Louis’s legs squeezed twice around him to go with his eyebrow wiggle.  
  
“Because I’m eating and you were there.”  
  
Harry did his best to look scandalized, complete with pressing a hand to his chest in horror.  
  
“Is _that_ why you let me see it? So I could explain it?”  
  
Louis grinned and swallowed.  
  
“You’re better at explaining, _obviously_ better at remembering the shit people say, and you talk so fucking slow I’ll have plenty of time to finish three bowls and have another kip before you’re done. And that’s all if your own fucking mind doesn’t clock out and stop listening before you finish your first sentence.”  
  
“If one of you doesn’t start talking about what happened I’m going to start sacrificing boxes of Coco Pops to the balcony birds,” Niall cut in, half-glaring over at the both of them.  
  
Harry had to study him for a moment to see if he’d actually do it. Niall seemed serious enough to threaten to waste food and Harry didn’t think he’d ever see that day. Then again, Louis was eating right now and Niall was not and Niall very much wanted to eat starting yesterday.  
  
Deciding it was probably best not to test Niall’s threat, Harry wrapped his arms under and around Louis’s calves and reached for his necklace, fiddling with it as he tried to figure out what to say first. He wasn’t in Louis’s head, couldn’t explain what was going on in his head, but Louis was right, he _could_ at least explain the bare facts of what happened.  
  
He tried to recall as much of what had been said between Louis and Cassie as possible while Louis did his best to stop his stomach from constantly chiming in.  
  
None of them said anything, though half-way through Niall did hand Louis the box of Coco Pops and then the milk from the coffee table so he could refill his bowl.  
  
“So you wanted to forget and not feel.” Liam was the first to speak when Harry had finished, looking over at Louis. “Exactly what happened, right?”  
  
Harry had said much the same thing earlier.  
  
Louis nodded, paused long enough to say, “Sure did,” before he brought the bowl to his lips and drank the last of the milk, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth when he was done.  
  
“What’d you want to forget then?” The curiousity in Niall's voice was mirrored by the look on Zayn’s face as he studied Louis.  
  
“Too many fucking problems that I hadn’t worked out yet.” Louis leaned over Harry to set his bowl on the coffee table and pluck up the still-open box. He’d finished off the milk but that didn’t deter him from more Coco Pops. He stayed folded over, chin propped on top of Harry’s head.  
  
The box of Coco Pops now dangling right in front of Harry’s face was taking up most of his vision and stopping him from drinking his beer. He almost rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother because no one could see it. Instead he set his bottle down and rubbed his hands slowly up and down Louis’ shins, since it was Louis’s turn to talk.  
  
Plunging his hand inside the box, Louis ate a few, only lifting up enough so he could chew. He stayed folded over close to Harry, elbows on his knees. He chewed slowly, working out what to say next. He only spoke again once he’d swallowed, which was very much not a part of his usual table etiquette.  
  
“Got lost in me own fucking head. Didn’t matter how much I fucking tried to work it all out, never seemed to get closer to any fucking answers. So I fucking gave up months ago only to have it all shoved in me fucking face Friday night when you two left.”  
  
Niall shook his head, chuckling.  
  
“No surprise there, mate.” He took a long pull of his beer, used it to motion at Louis. “Smarter you are the more dangerous you are to yourself.”  
  
Louis paused, handful of Coco Pops halfway to his lips.  
  
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”  
  
“Observation more like. Could be if you fucking want it to be.” Niall grinned. “All I’m saying is I’m not fucking surprised that with all the shit you _don’t_ say that your stubborn and dramatic arse needed a whole bloody curse to un-fucking-tangle yourself.”  
  
Harry leaned back enough to look up at Louis, pausing his stroking to tap his leg with a finger.  
  
“That was definitely not a compliment.”  
  
Louis glanced down at him, unimpressed.  
  
Harry shot him a cheeky grin.  
  
He pushed the box into Harry’s face, squishing his nose into the cardboard.  
  
“Thank you for _that_ observation, Harold.”  
  
“Did it work?” Zayn spoke up right as Harry opened his mouth to respond.  
  
Zayn couldn’t see that, of course, from Zayn’s point of view Harry was probably just a box of Coco Pops with a body, but it felt a bit like Zayn was speaking because he knew Harry was about to start something.  
  
It worked though, because Louis glanced back up at Zayn and moved the box back off of Harry’s face. Harry left his head leaning back on the cushion between Louis’s knees though, staring up at him from below. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed the latest handful of Coco Pops and Harry tried not to smile.  
  
Louis did have a very sinful neck.  
  
“Did what work?”  
  
“The curse. Did you get things sorted?”  
  
Louis snorted, that same one he made when he didn’t say ‘obviously’, and glanced back down at Harry, eyes going soft for a moment when their gazes met. He pulled his mildly-sticky-sugar-and-cocoa-and-spit-covered fingers from the box to sweep the fringe across Harry’s forehead and further out of his eyes, no doubt leaving a trail of muck over Harry’s hair.  
  
Well, least it wasn’t milk this time.  
  
“Got a bit of a different perspective on things,” Louis answered, giving Harry one more soft smile before he looked back up to Zayn. “So maybe not sorted sorted, but...reckon they will be.”  
  
“Think next time you’re having trouble at the fucking sort bin you could ask one of us before you _resort_ to cursing?” Niall asked with a wink. “Trust me, we’ll give you all the bloody perspective-checks you need, complete with five fingers attached too.”  
  
Not bad. If Niall got points Harry would definitely give him one for that.  
  
Louis arched a brow. Throwing back another handful of Coco Pops, he pulled one from his mouth before he started chewing and launched it at Niall’s face. It smacked into the arm of the sofa when Niall managed to duck just in time, but it did the trick, because Louis didn’t complain that he’d missed.  
  
“I always resort to cursing you lot first anyway. Didn’t need your fucking permission, but I’ll remember it now that you’ve given it.” He tipped the box like a drink. “Cheers.”  
  
Niall tipped his drink right back and said, “Good. Keep practicing, mate.”  
  
Grinning, Harry closed his eyes, head tipped back to rest on the cushions between Louis’s knees, deciding to just enjoy the moment, letting himself drift in a state of contentment while the other four talked.  
  
He wanted to just catalogue this moment too, compare how it felt, _really felt_ right now to be right here with Louis when the last time they’d been like this had been in a dream. The comparison gave such a startling clarity to everything now. The colors were brighter and the touches were sharper, Louis's legs against his sides warmer. He sighed, sinking a little further into the moment.  
  
“Seems you two got some things sorted too," he heard Liam say.  
  
Harry opened his eyes to find Louis watching him silently.  
  
Niall snorted around his bottle.  
  
“More than fucking sorted,” he muttered.  
  
Louis threw his finger up at Niall without looking away from Harry, so Harry got to see his eyes roll.  
  
Niall just shrugged and threw his hand up right back, but he was grinning around the lip of the bottle.  
  
“Are you going to say anything to anyone or...” Liam started, clearly trying to figure out how to ask.  
  
“We haven’t talked about it yet, haven’t had a chance, but right now you lot are the only ones who know.” Louis chose to idly play with the sweep of Harry’s fringe instead of eat more Coco Pops, even though he’d turned his attention back up to the others again.  
  
Harry didn’t know if Louis was trying to turn his hair into a sticky mess, trying to wipe his fingers, or not even paying attention. It felt good either way so he wasn’t going to complain. He let Louis do the talking for the both of them. That they’d talk about it later was enough for Harry to know that Louis wasn’t intending this to remain only his decision.  
  
“As far as I’m fucking concerned, if people want to get their fucking rocks off by speculating about us they can get their fucking rocks off speculating for the rest of their fucking lives.” He looked down at Harry, his eyes going a bit soft again as his gaze trailed over Harry’s face. He blinked, looked up at the lads again, the hard edge back in his voice but eyes still soft, so it gave his next words a bit of a protective flair. “I didn’t audition for X-Factor to put me love life up for sale.”  
  
His tone reminded Harry of how Louis didn’t want anyone touching his memory of their flower. They’d talked about it before they left Harry's bedroom. Harry had asked if he wanted to hang the framed flower up in the flat now that he’d told Harry, but after a few minutes, Louis had shaken his head. He was still too protective of the memory, wasn’t ready for anyone but his mum and Harry to know about it. Harry understood, had eased the frame back into the hoodie before they left the room, had seen Louis’ shoulders relax once it was safely hidden again.  
  
Harry agreed with Louis. He had no intention of sharing either, least not now. He wanted to keep Louis all to himself. But he did make sure to nod so the other three knew that Louis was speaking for the both of them.  
  
“Got it. Be your post-snog mirrors then.” Niall nodded once, mentally making a note of that. “Think we can do that, right lads?” he asked Zayn and Liam before wiggling his eyebrows at Harry and Louis. “What’s one more thing to hide, yea?” He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them excitedly. “This’ll be so much fucking fun.”  
  
“Why are you so fucking odd?” Louis asked in the exact same tone Niall had just used, but he lost some of the force of it because he was smiling.  
  
Harry lifted his head up when Louis’s hand stilled in his hair. He picked his drink back up and took another swallow.  
  
“Because I’m fucking mates with you,” Niall shot right back.  
  
“So are we all agreed that we’re not talking about what happened this weekend ever again?” Zayn asked, looking around at the group, settling on Louis like this was his final decision. “Only one person besides us knows and she definitely wants to keep it secret.”  
  
“Wait, that’s it?” Louis blinked in surprise, looking between the other three so curiously that Harry almost snorted some of the drink he was taking back into the bottle.  
  
“That’s what?” Liam asked in confusion, just as surprised.  
  
“No more questions? You’re just going to let me get away with that?” Apparently Louis was surprised enough to not realize that might not be the best thing to say.  
  
“Do you have more to say?” Niall asked, joining in on the confusion train.  
  
“No. No I’m good.”  
  
“Unlike what _some_ wankers may think,” Zayn eyed Louis, “we’re not going to sit here like three twats judging the dance portion of a competition until we’ve decided you’ve said enough. Just because we want to know what happened doesn’t mean you need to bare your soul to us all at once, Tommo." He shrugged, sipped his drink. "Bits and pieces over time are fine.”  
  
Harry felt that needed an extra punch, so he tipped his head back and arched an eyebrow at Louis, holding the pose until Louis noticed.  
  
He rolled his eyes and star-fished a still-sticky hand over Harry's face.  
  
“Stop saying that.”  
  
Harry slurped at his cocoa-dusted palm then took another sip when Louis jerked his hand back and wiped it all over Harry’s chest to clean it and cop a feel at the same time. Then he promptly snagged the bottle from Harry and took his own very large gulp. Harry just shrugged and grabbed Louis’s untouched bottle from the coffee table which was within easy reach. More beer for him.  
  
“Saying what?” Niall asked, now obviously surprised, leaning over a bit to peer at Harry’s face like it would give him the answer he was looking for.  
  
But Harry just shot him a beaming grin. It was Louis who answered with an eye roll and a definite grumble around the rim of his bottle, “I told you so.”  
  
“Wait, you got _that_ from _that_?” Niall exclaimed, pointing at Harry’s face and then at Harry’s face, looking between the two of them.  
  
Louis was looking at Niall now like he was mental.  
  
“Course I did. He’s not fucking subtle, you know.”  
  
“I know he’s not fucking subtle but that—” Niall blew out a breath and flopped back against the sofa, taking a sip without thinking. His mind had just been blown. Liam was grinning and Zayn just shook his head.  
  
“So, we all agreed then?” Zayn asked again.  
  
This time they all agreed, like they all hadn’t already been agreeing throughout the course of the weekend that this was never getting out past the five of them.  
  
“Good. If that’s fucking settled,” Niall clapped his hands together again, finished his Guinness, leaned forward, set it firmly on the coffee table, “then it’s abso-fucking-lutely time for food.”  
  
They all laughed at that.  
  
“What’re we having then?” Liam asked, like that needed to be asked. Niall indulged him anyway.  
  
“Nando’s. We’re fucking having Nando’s.”  
  
Harry turned his head enough to look at Niall over Louis’s right leg but not dislodge his non-sticky fingers, which had dropped the box of Coco Pops in favour of winding their way into his curls.  
  
“Mate, after everything you did this weekend, I’m taking my cut of this album and tour sales and buying you your own franchise.”  
  
“I’m not opposed to that.” Niall shrugged, already rising to get another drink.  
  
“You’re going to need at least some of that money you know. You do live in London,” Zayn pointed out, causing Harry to turn his head and look over at him.  
  
His grin got wider, both dimples on display as he looked up at Louis, who looked back down at him at the same time. He reached up, brushed two fingers along the scruff at the underside of Louis’s jaw.  
  
“No I won’t. I’ve got everything I need right here.”  
  
They all immediately started groaning, Louis the loudest of them all.  
  
“Is this going to be a thing from now on?” Louis tugged at a curl and pretended to nip at Harry's fingers. “Because I still have time to renegotiate _my_ contract.”  
  
“Seriously, Haz, you don’t tone that down and no mirrors are keeping you secret,” Liam added, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes at the both of them.  
  
“I’m a romantic and proud of it. Besides,” he looked back up at Louis and winked, “I thought you wanted to keep people speculating. Don’t act like you aren’t romantic too.”  
  
Louis cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Pretty sure you didn’t hear what I just said.”  
  
“Pretty sure I did.”  
  
“Then what makes you think I’m such a fucking romantic?”  
  
“Because I am. And you like that. Watch.” He reached up again, this time smoothing his fingers over Louis’s cheekbone, openly taking in Louis’s features as Louis watched him do it. Then he smiled softly and breathed out his confession. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”  
  
Louis’s eyes closed and, curving sticky fingers around the back of Harry's hand, he pressed a kiss to his palm. Then he shot Harry the most unimpressed look he could muster. It wasn’t half-bad, but definitely not as good as his usual.  
  
“You think everyone is beautiful, Haz. We’ve been through this.”  
  
“I do.” Harry shrugged, letting his fingers trail down to Louis’s lips. “But only one person who’s so beautiful they’ve left me breathless since the day I met them.”  
  
Louis’s head fell forwards with the rest of him as he folded completely over Harry, face smooshed against Harry's shoulder.  
  
“Fucking Christ, we really can’t fucking take you anywhere.”  
  
Harry smirked, wound his fingers into Louis's hair and murmured into his ear, “You can take me home.”  
  
They were all groaning again and Niall dragged a pillow from behind his back and launched it at Harry, but it only smacked into Louis who didn’t realize that by folding over he’d be protecting Harry from soft projectiles. Harry just grinned, looking at what he could see of Louis, which was really just soft brown strands of hair.  
  
“See? Romantic.”  
  
Louis didn't pick his head up. He bit Harry's shoulder then muttered, " _That_ doesn’t make me romantic.”  
  
“So...having one of your ‘favourite fucking memories’ be of me getting on one knee in front of you isn’t romantic?”  
  
Louis immediately smirked and pulled back enough to make sure Harry saw it. Now his lips were right next to Harry's ear.  
  
“I can’t wait to have fucking memories of you on your knees.”  
  
“I can’t wait—"  
  
“AND SCENE!” Niall clapped his hands together right by their heads like he was a director clapping the scene board used between takes closed again. Zayn and Liam laughed. “I have not had enough to drink for that and mayhap never fucking will. Keep it in your bloody pants, lads. Who else needs another drink now after that sordid fucking display?”  
  
Harry scrunched his nose at Niall for disrupting before he could respond and therefore giving Louis the point, but he couldn’t help raising a grumpy finger at Niall’s question. Even if he did still have half a bottle left. Better to have another at the ready when Louis no doubt started making swipes for this one too.  
  
Three other hands came up and Niall looked as pleased as a professor who had just asked a question and had the whole class raise their hands.  
  
“Brilliant. Now someone get me some fucking Nando’s before me insides liquify.”  
  
He went into the kitchen for drinks and Liam rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone to get right on that. Niall was a bit too essential to their success as a band for them to risk his liquification after all.  
  
“We should watch something,” Harry said once they all had drinks in hand and they were waiting on the food to arrive.  
  
He wasn’t going to lie, lying back on his newly-reacquired Yorkshire pillow and listening to Louis breathe for an hour and change sounded so fucking perfect right now.  
  
“You’re not getting my Twitter,” Liam pointed out, eyeing him sideways.  
  
“We’re not watching Lord of the Rings,” Harry pointed out right back, mimicking Liam’s tone. It took a lot of willpower, but he pulled away from Louis, set his drink on the coffee table, and crawled across to the telly, running a finger over his rom-coms. “We need something romantic and something comedic. Preferably something with both.”  
  
“Huh, I wonder where this is going,” Zayn drawled, eyeing Harry sideways now too.  
  
Harry pulled out Titanic.  
  
“That’s not a comedy,” Zayn said.  
  
Harry huffed and pushed it back into its slot and pulled out The Notebook instead.  
  
“Really?” Liam complained next. “That’s _definitely_ not a comedy. Haven’t we been forced to watch that enough already?”  
  
“Lads, I’ve been stuck inside this walking rom-com for the past three days. If he wants to watch that one I say we let him,” Louis said suddenly from his spot. He’d reached for his discarded box of Coco Pops now that his hand wasn’t occupied by Harry’s curls.  
  
Harry whirled around to look at him.  
  
That was...surprisingly sweet. It was rare that Louis gave in so easily to Harry’s choice of film.  
  
Wait.  
  
“Fuck.” He eyed the Blu-Ray in his hands.  
  
“What?” Liam asked, clearly perplexed.  
  
Sucking in a deep breath and holding it, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and opened the case. He peeked down at it and groaned the air all back out of his lungs. Sagging straight down over himself, he almost curled into the fetal position, wishing he could hide the case and protect it from the horror that his life had just become.  
  
“The Transporter?” he whinged, not even bothering to temper it, peeking up over his bicep at Louis as the other three burst out laughing, Niall almost choking on the drink he’d been about to take. “Really?”  
  
Louis’s gaze flit to the dark corner by the balcony behind Harry, brows furrowing. He looked back at Harry, smirked, flicked his wrist, then tossed a single pop in the air, catching it in his mouth. He chomped down on it, mouth open, right at Harry.  
  
“Didn’t realize you liked Jason Statham films that much, Haz. I can get behind that.”  
  
“Not in front of it?” Liam teased.  
  
“Didn’t you hear, Payno? I’m big spoon for the rest of the century." Louis sat back with an extra squiggle into the cushions, making himself comfortable in preparation for watching the film. He also made it very obvious that no one was going to be sitting behind him by leaving a very obvious Harry-sized space in front of him. "Behind it is.”  
  
Once settled, he pulled out another pop and threw it at Liam, who actually caught it and ate it with a smirk. Then he turned back to Harry, that ever-present smirk on his face, a king on his fucking throne. Louis very deliberately looked down and eyed between his legs. With his eyes on Harry, he shook the box of Coco Pops and arched his eyebrow before setting the box deliberately in the space between his legs.  
  
“So how ‘bout you pop that film in and come over here, yea?”  
  
Harry flushed with happiness, his wee creature prancing around in his chest. He wanted so badly to take up that challenge that Louis had just thrown down with a box of Coco Pops no less, but Harry chose to follow through here first.  
  
He sank down over himself, letting out the longest long-suffering sigh he possibly could to make sure they all heard it, knowing they did when Louis started laughing.  
  
Somehow Louis always managed to turn everything into a win and that was a superpower Harry would love to have. He should have seen it coming. He really should have seen this coming. There were a lot of things he should have seen coming by now.  
  
But he had a feeling it would take more than a lifetime to understand all the beautiful and mischievous complexities of the blue-eyed, golden-tongued devil sat there waiting for him.  
  
And fuck if he wasn’t going to give it one hell of a shot.


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought with the lads over writing this epilogue the entire time I was working on the rest of the story, and then for another month after posting, before I finally caved to their demands and wrote it. It still involved many hours spent banging my head against the keyboard and hoping that autocorrect would fill in the words for me. A huge thank you to zanni_scaramouche for her inestimable help being my human autocorrect and to almondmilktea and louloubaby92 for their constant support while I keyboard-facepalmed. This would not be written without them.
> 
> Please be aware, if you're coming back to read this, that the rating has changed and there's explicit sexual content in this epilogue.
> 
> And of course, if you read closely enough, there's lots of hints and clues in there even now. Because I can't help myself.
> 
> As always, these are characters! They may be loosely based on real people, but in no way are these characters and the real people related. I hope you enjoy!

_“Harry, go. Just fucking wake up. Go!” Louis gasped out, as breathless as Harry was, when instead of leaving, Harry darted back to him at the centre and shook the bars again. “I can’t fucking wake up, remember? You have to go.” He rattled the bars once, hard. “Fuck’s sake just fucking go!”  
  
Harry threw his shoulder into the bars again and Louis shoved his arm through one of the diamonds and into Harry’s chest, knocking him back.  
  
“I fucking chose this, ok!”  
  
That was enough to shock Harry into gripping onto the metal diamonds right by Louis’s hands. He tore his gaze away from the darkness filling the stairwell behind Louis, beginning to ooze onto the landing a couple metres away from them. Something was pulling, tugging at the back of his shirt and he wasn’t going to fight it much longer, not this time. He still had time to wake up before it caught up to Louis again. He was going to get Louis the fuck out of here.  
  
He met Louis’s eyes.  
  
They weren’t that electric blue anymore, but instead that vivid sky blue they only seemed to get under the bright stage lights or in the direct flash of cameras. That single, split second flare of his eyes meeting the beam penetrated deeper than Louis ever wanted anyone to go, but he couldn’t stop it from shining right through him anyway. It always stole Harry’s breath, that strange mix of exquisite and vulnerable that Louis seemed to have no control over in those moments.  
  
They were that color now, so shiny they almost looked wet.  
  
Louis didn’t look away. His hand shot through the bars, fisted in the fabric of Harry’s shirt.  
  
“She gave me the choice and I fucking chose this. And if you really fucking love me then fucking listen to me, you bastard, and go.”  
  
He was going, but for one final second he held Louis’s hand to his chest, to his shredded mess of a heart, needing Louis to know, to understand.  
  
“I’m listening, Lou. I hear you.”  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, Louis’s hand went limp beneath Harry’s. His eyes lost their focus again, that same faraway look slipping over his face.  
  
Harry lunged forwards to try and bring him back and in the process he let go.  
  
“Nono wait! Wait! Louis, look at me, look at me! Louis!”  
  
But the tug from behind swept him off his feet before he could catch a hold of the gate again, grab hold of Louis again. Darkness swirled over his entire vision as shadows swirled around Louis, until he couldn’t see anything but black.  
_

He jerked, eyes flying open, every muscle locking in place.

Sight. Dark, but not impenetrable. Blank white walls, faint light through grey curtains, cityscape picture over the second empty bed. Hotel room.

His eyes closed.

Feel. Warmth, comfort. Bare skin. Pillow gently rising and falling, the tempo slow, deep, even, beneath his left cheek, rising and falling even more beneath his right arm, wrapped around a stomach soft and firm and slender. Arm around his back, breath whispering against the top of his head.

Go. Just go. Just fucking go. 

_If you really fucking love me then fucking listen to me and go._

_Fuck’s sake just fucking go!_

Just go. 

He’d let go.

He forced his lungs to inflate until they expanded too much and squished his wee creature to hug it, to calm it down from the frantic thumping and pounding it was still doing against the cage of his ribs. 

He needed the hug and Louis couldn’t give him one.

The cradle of his lungs around his heart worked just enough to unlock his limbs. He eased upright as carefully as he could, rolled to his right and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He didn’t want the cold, not now, but he had no choice. He let the cool air outside of the blankets wash over his naked body, flood over his senses.

_The hairs on his arms stood up as the chill of the black crept further up, closer to his arms looped and locked right below Louis’s ribs._

_“Louis! Louis, please, please Louis you gotta come back, fuck please-“_

_And then it touched his arm._

But his arms were empty, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress.

Just go.

He’d let go.

Legs spread, he pushed onto the balls of his feet and hoped his muscles would be satisfied with this imitation of standing as he curved over himself, elbows digging into his thighs and head falling into his hands. 

The single quiet word shoved out with the last of the deep breath he’d just taken.

“Fuck.”

Mostly air. Didn’t even make his vocal cords vibrate. Completely ineffective.

“Haz?” A mostly-asleep voice mumbled behind him. The bed shifted slightly, the deep inhale of attempting to wake up just a wee bit more following a moment later. “S’it?”

“Sorry.” _That_ word actually came out proper. Rough, but proper. Harry lifted his head out of his hands, wincing when his middle finger got caught on a tangled curl. He tugged the snarl out, straightened enough to look over his right shoulder to the bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘Course you didn’t.” Even scratchy with sleep, Louis still managed to stick the obvious chiding into his tone, the kind that always implied either _pumpkin_ or _obviously, Harold_ , if he didn’t say either one. Propping himself up on his right arm, Louis slid a hand over his face, yawned, blinked twice like he was making sure his eyes would do what he wanted them to do, then shot a sleepy, softly-pointed glance at Harry to go with his words.

Because they both knew Harry would never wake Louis unless he had to, so the apology was a bit superfluous really. Still wouldn’t stop him from apologizing though, even if it just earned him the usual amused reprimand in response.

He could do with that normalcy right now.

The light in the room, the red from the clock on the table between the beds and the pure white of moonlight beaming through the sliver in the curtains, combined to create just a ‘dim’. It still was enough to light Louis, facing the window as he was to look at Harry. Sheets pooled at his waist and with his right arm and abs flexed to prop him up, the light caught in all the dips and ridges of his body and defined his muscles in a cool glow, soothing and gorgeous at the same time. 

It did a lot to help Harry’s heart calm down just a little bit more.

Well, that and the sleepy mess of his hair. Louis had been sleeping on his back so the flyaway strands were shoved more to the sides than all over his head right now. 

Harry knew their fans always likened Louis to a hedgehog. It was popular enough that they knew about it, but if Harry was honest, especially in times like these, he couldn’t help but think Louis looked a bit like a penguin. 

Not the giant ones, but those smaller ones with the messy yellow hair. They always seemed to have a challenging look on their faces like the yellow spikes were a bad hair day and they were daring anyone to comment: feisty and fiery and still utterly adorable all in one.

Not that he’d ever tell their fans. To do that he’d have to tell Louis first and that was one thought he’d long ago filed under ‘keep to himself’. King Louis definitely did not need to hear that particular thought.

Harry realized he probably should have said something by now when Louis tipped his head to the side and the light from the window tracked over his eyes enough for Harry to notice Louis studying him. He didn’t have the chance to school his features before a line appeared between Louis’s brows to match the slight downward curve of his lips. At that moment Harry knew he’d been caught, but he wasn’t about to lie to Louis, so he turned back to face the window, staring at the slice in the curtain.

The bed shifted beneath Harry and then a warm chest pressed against his back, arms wrapping loosely over his own, their biceps touching. His skin tingled when Louis rubbed his chin along his right shoulder, the stubble long enough to be less of a scratch and more a gentle brush. Lips pressed against the curve of his neck and he felt Louis inhale against his back, felt the warmth of his exhale a moment later, felt the quiet word as much as he heard it.

“Again?”

Louis’s left hand slid back over Harry’s chest to curve around his bicep. The tip of his middle finger stroked over the three nails tattooed on Harry’s arm.

True to the promise the five of them had made that weekend, none of them ever talked about what had happened when Louis was cursed. They never said anything out loud no matter how alone they all were. 

He’d gotten the tattoo before their first show in Manchester and Louis had taken to gazing at it, or touching or kissing it every so often now that it was healed. It was like a silent code between them, Louis’s way of bringing it up in the way he knew best, a way without words that Harry understood too.

He knew Louis was thinking about that weekend whenever he did any of those things out of nowhere. Right now that gentle touch was the rest of his question left unspoken.

He nodded and Louis slid his arm around Harry again until both arms were crossed over his chest once more. Hooking his hand over Louis’s arm to hold onto him and rubbing the side of his thumb over his bird tattoo, Harry sighed, tipped his head sideways until his cheek rested against sleep-mussed strands.

He inhaled deeply. As real as those cursed-dreams had been, he couldn’t quite remember any of the smells that should have been there. 

He breathed Louis in now.

Under the faint cigarette smoke always clinging to his hair was the unmistakable scent of warm spices that was all Louis, the kind as comforting and exciting as the day-before-Christmas lad Louis was that reminded Harry of mulled wine and firelight. That smoky glow mingled with the hint of bright peppermint lingering on his breath from his toothpaste and the refreshing clean of the shower he’d had before bed to wash the sweat of the stage and their sex away.

Even his scent was a lesson in contradictions, in opposites that harmonized into something so distinctly Louis.

Christ, he loved him.

“It’s over, Haz,” Louis mumbled against his skin. He said it each time this happened, not as a reprimand though, but as a gentle reminder, like he’d say it as many times as Harry needed to hear it until it finally sank in.

“It’s already been two weeks.”

“Or it’s _only_ been two weeks.” Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s neck. “Who says there’s some fucking proper amount of time for shit like this?”

Louis lifted his head so Harry had to lift his own, then warm fingers nudged at his chin, turned him enough so their lips could meet. 

In the two weeks since their first kiss, which had been incredible enough to shock his brain straight into thinking in the third-person, Harry had come to realize that he loved not only kissing Louis, but trying to read Louis’s kisses too. 

As much as he wished he knew everything there was to know about Louis, he still loved discovering all the little nuances of Louis’s lips. Louis said so much without any words at all, put most of what he was thinking in his actions. Harry would do anything to master his unspoken language and now that he was lucky enough to kiss him, he had one more beautiful way to learn.

This kiss wasn’t deep but it said so much. Steady and teasing at the same time, like a reminder that things were different, better now. Louis was kissing a far better memory into his brain by reminding Harry with his lips that he was kissing him now because he _could_.

Louis pulled away enough to speak, to catch his gaze, thumb stroking over the hint of a smile he’d kissed right onto Harry’s face.

“Don’t make this bigger than it is, yea?”

He curled his palm over Louis’s, pressed those warm and talented fingers against his mouth. Mapping the delicate contours of Louis’s hand with his lips, he kissed down to Louis’s palm, held it there over his mouth and nodded.

He wasn’t doing it on purpose, though. It _was_ over. Louis was back, they were together, closer than they’d ever been before and he was so fucking happy. 

His wee creature of a heart spent most of its time prancing about in his chest, dancing to the wild beat of their performances and Louis’s lightning strike solar flare of a soul flooding him with so much laughter and love and light.

So why did he keep reliving parts of the nightmare over and over again? Why were they still so vivid, relentlessly bludgeoning into his senses, uncompromising and unyielding?

_Fuck._

It only ever happened when they were alone too, when they weren’t performing or greeting fans or giving interviews. 

He couldn’t understand it.

He saw no rhyme or reason to why it happened.

Why was that off feeling still festering up in him like a blistered infection, spreading ever further up his spine until he was forced to flex his shoulders to break up the slimy ooze of that lesion and force it to cascade through the fissure between his shoulder blades?

Two weeks. They broke the curse and he’d been overwhelmed by that unexpected loneliness two weeks ago. 

He hated that he still felt like there was a space in his chest where Louis should be, like Louis was still _supposed_ to be there, like the hole that had allowed that loneliness to burrow between his ribs and lodge around his heart had never been properly filled in. Like he wasn’t bloody close enough.

 _Fuck_.

Why was everything hovering, waiting for the beat to drop even though the music was paused?

Why was the world holding its breath?

He wanted to lift his hand, see if he could feel the air brush over his skin when he moved.

Staring over the curve of Louis’s palm against his mouth towards the hotel window, he noticed a single speck of dust as it drifted across the moonlight coming from the window in a brief little flare, so tiny and yet so very obvious to him at the same time.

This hyper-clarity was the only way when he relived these curse-dreams that he knew he was awake now, even if—like that wee dust mite—he felt caught in that strange limbo between two worlds, between dreaming and awake. If he focused hard enough right now, he truly thought he’d see all these strings connecting the particles in the air like threads of all the tangled emotions swirling in an odd jumble between his head and his heart. 

Instead he closed his eyes.

“Hey.” Warm fingers combed the curls off his forehead, tapped against his temple. “What’s going on in there?”

Fuck he wished he knew. He wished he knew how to even put it into words. Everything felt just this side of foreign, fleeting yet potent and just _not enough_.

If only he could just splay his hands and magically flick everything he was feeling out into the air in front of him so Louis could see the chaotic splatter of an inkblot and make sense of it for him. 

If Louis were still in his mind he probably could, would probably pick up on everything Harry didn’t realize he was thinking and turn it back on him with a perfect quip that set everything to rights.

But Louis wasn’t there anymore.

And he hated that his wee creature always scooted one degree off-centre in his chest to make room for Louis to come back every time that particular thought bled into his consciousness.

Turning more fully into Louis’s embrace, Harry gently thunked his temple against Louis’s a few times to knock his head and heart back into place and sighed. He slid Louis’s palm down to speak.

“Feelings would look so beautiful if we could see them.”

The ghost of a chuckle wisped against his shoulder when Louis’s lips fell to press there. The hand that had been against Harry’s lips now rested against Harry’s breastbone, fiddled with his pendant. 

“Yea?” Louis released a slow, deep breath without lifting his head and let go of his cross. His thumb was smoothing over the beak of Harry’s left swallow when he added even more quietly, “Reckon you’re probably right.”

“Think so?”

“Mm.” Louis lifted his head then, pressed more fully against his back and rested his lips against Harry’s temple, faint smile playing about them to match the faint amusement in his tone. “Proper magic, that.”

Proper magic. Harry wasn’t even sure what proper magic was anymore. Louis was proper magic. Having Louis wrapped around him right now, saturating his senses, and still feeling like he wasn’t close enough? That was proper magic. Dark magic. Because how was that even possible?

What would yearning look like? 

Blue.

An electric blue, like crackles flickering and sparking through the air towards that highest point, reaching and reaching and so close, so very close and so almost there. Electric blue like lightning-strike eyes and the wave of longing washing over him for the brilliant lad pressed against him now.

Strong arms held him closer. The pressure of Louis’s lips now just behind his ear seared into him even through the wild tangle of his hair.

Louis was here. He was _right here_ , draped over his back, warm and solid and _awake,_ a sunflare caressing his skin: wild and unreachable and _not close enough_.

Nothing could cast away the freeze of that cursed nightmare like the searing heat of Louis’s body against him, around him.

Louis tensed. 

Harry twisted.

Curving a hand over Louis’s jaw, Harry tried to catch his gaze and draw it away from the shadowed corner near the top of the window. He wanted to capture those lips in a kiss deep enough to match his yearning, but Louis seemed frozen in place. Harry smoothed his thumb over the corner of Louis’s lips and turned Louis to him until that blue-eyed gaze he loved so much finally tore away from the corner of the room.

“Hey. What is it?”

As though Harry had the magic touch to pull that smile onto Louis’s face, those lips curved up. His tongue swept over his bottom lip and brushed against Harry’s thumb.

“Nothing.” Before Harry could ask, he added, “Just thought I could see those feelings you were on about.”

Harry tried to ask again, but the moment he opened his mouth Louis ducked in, kissing him so quickly and so urgently it startled Harry. The teasing tongue that had been against his thumb now drove right past Harry’s lips to collide with his own. Deeper. Desperate. 

Louis was pushing against his back to get closer and Harry chased after the delicious warmth of his mouth. His tongue delved between Louis’s lips, searching, seeking, needing, reassuring, until a faint moan welled in Louis’s throat.

“Haz—” Louis hesitated, cut off whatever he was about to say and smashed their mouths together again instead.

Louis’s chest dug into Harry’s shoulder but Harry couldn’t twist any further. He had nowhere to go, but he needed to be closer to the searing heat of Louis’s touch. The room was warm but not warm enough to be this far away. He needed to feel him. 

Twin flashes of hot pleasure-pain and cold shock shot straight down his spine when Louis’s fingers buried in his hair, tugged at his curls to get closer to his mouth.

_Harry felt it, felt the warmth seeping unnaturally out of his body as though it were being drained from him._

_“No no no, Louis, don’t! Don’t!”_

_But Louis’s head just fell back on Harry’s shoulder, eyes fluttering and hands spasming as he clutched onto Harry._

He jerked back.

“Haz?”

He blinked once, slowly, refocused, found confused blue eyes looking at him.

“Your hands are cold again.”

Not again. Not fucking now.

Drawing Louis’s hand from his hair, Harry kissed his fingers then pressed Louis’s palm flat against his chest, chased the cold from both sides.

Louis was so bloody warm, wrapped around Harry, but his fingers felt like they were still caught in February’s chill. 

Not now. Not bloody now.

A line appeared between Louis’s brows, fleeting, but then he bumped his forehead against Harry’s for a beat, like he was knocking on his brain to interrupt his thoughts.

“Probably because my blanket decided to get up in the middle of the fucking night.”

They both knew it had nothing to do with that. His fingers went cold so suddenly it couldn’t be entirely natural. 

It might be over, the curse might be broken, but it was as though some strange quirk of the magic remained and was mucking up Louis’s internal heating system. His hands would go cold in the most random moments. The icy spells didn’t come often, never happened under the bright stage lights when they were performing or when they were in the public eye or even when they were actually outside in the winter air.

Louis had always been a solar flare of burning heat, but Harry knew he’d packed more long-sleeved shirts and pullovers this time around. He’d taken to pulling the sleeves all the way over his hands on occasion the past couple of weeks, as though for the first time his fingers needed the extra help staying warm.

Maybe his hands just needed the extra time to catch up, just like Harry’s brain. That’s what Louis had said last time this happened.

So Harry rolled his eyes and rewarded Louis with a pout. 

“Well maybe your blanket didn’t want to wake you.”

“Mm. How’d that work out?” Before Harry could answer Louis stole another kiss, smiling into it. “Just warm me up, yea?” 

His free hand trailed deliberately slow down Harry’s chest, over the ridges of his abs. His palm pressed flat right above Harry’s crotch, pinky nestling in the hair that marked the trail down to his cock.

“Reckon you can come up with a way to do that, right?”

The blood in his body followed Louis’s hand, like the iron in it couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of Louis’s touch, pooling low in his stomach and causing his breath to hitch. He dropped his free hand to Louis’s, pressed it into his skin too.

He twisted enough to see more of Louis’s face in the dim light.

“Aren’t you sore?” he asked, which earned him a short laugh from Louis. 

Louis’s fingers curled against Harry’s chest beneath his hand, shook off Harry’s hold enough to tweak his nipple. He grinned when Harry jumped.

“Can’t bloody wait to fuck me again, hm?”

Well. He couldn’t deny that was exactly where his mind had gone. He didn't think he'd ever get enough of Louis filling him, which felt just as perfect as Louis’s body wrapped around him.

But he'd truly never seen anything so perfect as the utter bliss on Louis’s face when he was lost in the overwhelming pleasure stimulating him from two places at once.

He opened his mouth to—

Louis kissed him.

“Me back is a bit sore,” Louis admitted against his lips, more sly than innocent, that ever-present smirk on his face. He nipped at Harry’s jaw. “But that’s because the door gives it to me better than you do.”

Harry grinned at that. They hadn’t made it very far into the hotel room that night before their kits were strewn across the floor, hadn’t even unpacked yet, so the lube was still by the door in their baggage. It had been Louis holding the lube and a condom out to him, face flushed and hair a mess and eyes as devious as they were bright, a single wiggle of his eyebrows, a nod at the door and a _Wanna_ _try?_.

So door it was.

For their first time fucking against a door, that door had taken quite the pounding.

Louis had been caught between his body and the door, leg around Harry’s waist as he thrust up into Louis hard enough that only the door was keeping them upright.

Least it wasn’t the main door into their hotel room. There would have been something distinctly ironic about losing himself in the solar flare that was Louis with ‘ _Fire Evacuation Plan’_ staring at him from behind Louis’s head. 

It’d been a wild mess of laughter and limbs, of clumsy fumbling and still learning each other’s bodies, of Louis bumping his head back against the door too hard and cursing because he’d somehow miscalculated exactly where it was even while leaning against it. But Louis had also snorted a laugh into his mouth when Harry just about lost his balance because there was probably too much lube and he was trying to get his cock in without looking, too eager to get into Louis but Louis couldn’t quite stop moving because _When did Louis ever quite stop moving?._ They’d both been a bit too desperate to get off together after two nights on the tour bus and too much leftover adrenaline from the show and too much built up anticipation of finally having a night alone. 

It’d been fun and it’d been perfect and Harry didn’t think he’d stopped smiling once.

Just like he was smiling now. 

He latched on to Louis’s challenge and used it to shove at the unwelcome tendrils of the nightmare still lodged in his chest.

“Didn’t hear you asking the door for more.”

“Didn’t need to tell the door to go harder either now did I?” Louis quipped right back.

“Because it can’t give it to you harder than I can.”

“That’s not what me back is saying.”

In a way, Harry understood what he meant. Louis’s back may be red from being shoved over and over against the door, but Harry still felt the raised red scratch marks criss-crossing his own. Harry had thrust into Louis particularly hard, had Louis’ standing leg nearly off the ground from the force, and Louis had cursed and whip-dragged his fingers across Harry’s skin on the way to clutching onto Harry’s arms.

That was when Louis had smacked his head against the door too. 

The memory sent a heady rush of arousal through him and his hand fell from Louis’s to fist his hardening cock before he could stop himself. He bit his lip at the zing of pleasure, that perfect first moment of touch. 

Louis’s gaze darted down to watch his hand and Harry was pretty sure Louis didn’t mean to lick his lips, but fuck if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

Memories of the wet heat of Louis’s mouth enveloping him sprung up and he cut off the moan in the back of his throat.

Their faces were so close Louis must have heard it.

His fingers curled into Harry’s stomach and chest again, like he was forcing himself not to move them. The cold crept over Harry’s senses and he clenched his jaw against memories threatening to push to the forefront.

He wanted him. Christ, he wanted him so fucking bad.

He stroked himself slow just once because he couldn’t help it, not with Louis so fucking sexy and so fucking close and staring down so intently that Harry swore he could feel the heat of Louis’s gaze searing across the head of his cock in the circle of his fist.

Louis’s breath hitched, a low moan welling in his throat. The hard line of his dick pushed into Harry’s hip as he tried to rub against him, chasing delicious friction.

Icy fingers wrapped around Harry’s hand and squeezed, dragged their grips over the head of his cock to catch the precome leaking from his tip only to spread it down in a slick glide over his length.

“Fuck.” The word spilled out and the cold in Louis’s fingers warred with the heat of his body, tipping Harry dangerously off-balance on the edge between control and arousal, dreaming and awake.

And then Louis bit down on his shoulder, right where muscle met bone.

_Louis didn’t speak, probably couldn’t speak even if he weren’t still biting down on Harry’s shoulder, whole body shaking now, lungs shoving his chest against Harry’s. Harry couldn’t feel his arms anymore, couldn’t even see them, couldn’t see most of Louis’s back, realized in horror that he was watching Louis steadily **disappearing** into nothing._

The searing pressure of Louis’s teeth vanished, leaving nothing more than a cool kiss of air where his heat used to be.

“Hazza—”

Whirling around, he let go of himself and caught Louis’s face in both hands and kissed him, held him in place and let the searing heat of Louis’s lips slice across the memory. 

Louis’s tongue slid between his lips, grazed across his teeth before Harry nudged his thumb against Louis’s jaw to open his mouth and find his way inside, further, deeper, far wetter than the previous kisses had been.

He couldn’t get enough, he never could, not with Louis’s lips on his, Louis’s chest rubbing against his own, Louis’s hands sliding up and down his arms, gripping his muscles, trying to pull him closer, so cold and so close and still not enough.

He surged forwards and tried to twist and get his legs over Louis at the same time and ended up tangled in the sheets caught around his hips.

They fell in a jumble and he landed on top of Louis. The rush of air escaping from Louis turned into a breathless laugh against Harry’s lips and sent that particular memory finally fading into the background. 

Louis broke the kiss, head falling against the bed below the pillow before he propped himself on his elbows.

“You’re so fucking uncoordinated,” he grinned as Harry pulled away, kicking the offending sheets to the side.

Finally free, Harry turned and crawled between Louis’s legs until he was hovering over Louis and Louis had to tilt his head back on his shoulders to keep looking at him. He bumped his forehead against Louis’s in a silent _thank you_ and matched his sleepy half-smirk with a lazy, uncoordinated grin.

“Coordinated you well enough against the door a few hours ago.”

Louis snorted.

“Because you had a fucking door holding you up. Training wheels don’t count, pumpkin.”

Harry chuckled at the pun he wasn’t sure Louis intended to make. He was right though; it _had_ been a door for fucking and therefore a fucking door. He nuzzled into Louis’s neck, nipped at his skin.

“Says the one who had to lean against it the whole fucking time.” 

He could make puns too. He loved puns.

Louis’s head tipped to the side, gave him more room, but only for kisses.

“Had a bloody good reason to keep you from going arse over tit.”

Harry snorted into Louis’s neck before he could stop himself and grinned when Louis jerked in surprise. He was sure that felt weird. 

If anyone could stop Harry from going arse over tit it was _definitely_ not Louis. Louis sent him arse over tit on the fucking daily with nothing more than a private smirk or a teasing touch. Hell, all Louis had to do was look at him and Harry was free-falling.

Louis was the last person keeping him upright the few times they’d fucked standing up too. Harry may have spent three years silently admiring all the perfect fucking dips and angles of Louis’s body, but there were still things he didn’t quite know until about a week and a half ago. 

Things like how most of _his_ height was in his legs, so even if he only had a few inches on Louis, Harry wasn’t the only one with balance problems any time they went at it and weren’t lying down.

Because Louis never moved unless he wanted to move, except, Harry realized, when he was thrusting up into the radiantly tight heat of Louis’s arse. Then it was all but impossible for Louis to keep either foot planted flat on the ground and left him cursing and clutching at anything within reach to keep himself in place.

The things you learn.

Fingers carded into his curls, pulled him away from Louis’s neck. He bit just enough to make his displeasure known at having to leave the spot and Louis shot him an unimpressed look when he could see his face. The look didn’t quite work with the flush that had settled over Louis’s cheeks, though.

Worked even less when Louis started speaking between the kisses and nips he was peppering over Harry’s jaw. His forearm dropped to the bed again to keep him propped up.

“You do realize strapping us to the floating walkway has nothing to do with fucking HSE regulations, yea?”

“Because no one trusts you not to skydive off during a fucking soundcheck?” he grinned, pushing his weight to his left so he could trail his hand over Louis’ stomach. 

Louis’s abs flexed and jumped beneath his touch and he pushed his hips into Louis’s thigh, pressed it into the bed, opening his legs further to Harry’s wandering fingers.

A low, hitched moan caught in the back of Louis’s throat, but when Harry tried to look down the long line of his body, he nosed against Harry’s cheek, nipped at his lip. And when Harry turned, his grin was one of obvious victory.

“Because no one trusts _you_ not to _nosedive_ off during a fucking show.”

Louis proper kissed him before he could answer and Harry’s eyes closed at the perfect pressure of Louis’s tongue sliding against his, warm and playful. 

His hand slipped lower, into the v of Louis’s hips, brushed a knuckle along his length up to the head of Louis’s cock.

Louis bucked, seeking more of his touch, lips falling open in the kiss. He started to pull back but the jerk of his hips had ground the tense muscle of his thigh into Harry’s cock and rocketed a spark of hot pleasure up Harry’s spine. 

Harry surged forward instead, took full advantage when Louis’s lips parted to capture the low whine Louis tried to swallow. 

Louis sank fully to the bed under Harry’s weight and cold hands slid up Harry’s arms, gripped his biceps.

_Louis had nowhere to hold on anymore with the edge of the bus dangerously close in front of him and Harry all but wrapped around him. But he reached up behind, fingers curling into both sleeves of Harry’s tee at his shoulders, holding on and pushing back into Harry, panting, struggling to pull his leg back without being able to move anything else._

_“Get me out, get me out, fuck, fuck, Hazza—”_

Eyes flying open, Harry jolted back from the kiss and saw Louis’s eyes, _open_ , _awake_ , following his hands as they slid over Harry’s chest, the victorious sunshine king mapping the country he’d claimed and conquered. Another burst of arousal shoved the thin spike of fear between his ribs out of his chest on its straight shot to his cock.

His hips jerked instinctively at the hunger in those blue eyes that for once Louis wasn’t trying to hide, because they didn’t have to hide here, rutting his cock into the juncture of Louis’s thigh and hip. 

Louis’s gaze dropped to the movement and he hooked his finger in the chain around Harry’s neck to tug Harry to him.

He just saw his cross fall into the dip at the base of Louis’s throat before they were kissing again. Louis’s chest against his own chased the tendrils of that flash of an image ever closer to the edge of his mind and he was so close and not close enough.

He curved over the length of Louis’s body, tried to soak up more of his tantalizing heat. 

Louis bit Harry’s lip and tugged. Pushing his palms into the mattress, Louis shifted up the bed until his head hit the pillow, their lips sliding in half-kisses all the way as Harry followed.

He always did, chased his electricity like the moth to Louis’s fucking flame that he was. Because maybe if he stayed in the light the nightmare couldn’t get to him. It couldn’t be dark if it was light, right?

Louis was a fucking sunflare, pushing up against Harry, so bloody warm and Harry dragged his hands from the sheets to grip his waist and keep him there. 

Louis’s hands were everywhere, squeezing and tugging and pinching like he knew, like a sun king who had already staked his claim on Harry’s body and his heart. Louis’s touch was electric, sparklers driving deep into Harry’s skin from every part of his body except his hands. The cold wouldn’t go away.

Harry hated that cold as much as he hated hope. He would do anything to force it from Louis’s fingers. 

If only he knew how.

He knew where to dig in just right to make Louis squawk from a tickle, but there was still too much he didn’t know about the lad beneath him.

He needed to _know_ , needed to learn him until he couldn’t possibly disappear, until Louis was a muscle memory fixed in every nerve of his body just as Louis had penetrated every corner of his mind and made himself at home.

Louis’s thighs squeezed around his hips and he bucked into Harry in an attempt to flip them over.

A spark of fear. Harry broke the kiss and nipped at Louis’s jaw as a low growl escaped into the cool hotel air. He ground his hips into Louis, wrenched Louis’s hands from his back, shoved them to either side of Louis’s head and laced their fingers in a crushing grip.

The exquisite pleasure of Louis’s hot body and dick pressing against his own zipped up his spine as Louis bit back a moan laced with surprise. It took a full two frantic beats to realize what he’d done and Harry squeezed again, slid his hands down to smooth over the delicate skin on the inside of Louis’s wrists. Holding on to his wrists as tightly as he had on a dream-stage weeks ago, Harry lifted his head and, through the mess of curls flopping into his vision, caught sight of Louis’s hazy, searching gaze. He dropped his forehead to Louis’s and licked his lips, pushed out a shaky breath. 

“Let me, just...let me.”

He buried his face against the sweat-slicked line of Louis’s throat as soon as the words were out. 

Louis’s throat bobbed against his lips when he swallowed. He nodded and his chin bumped against Harry’s head.

“Fuck, ok.” Voice scratchy with sleep and desire, Louis’s throat vibrated with the words.

Harry’s lips tingled.

He latched onto skin, sucked a deep mark, wet and wanting, into the base of Louis’s throat so he could feel the low groan that sprung unbidden from Louis and devour that fucking gorgeous voice, feel it thrumming in every corner of his being.

Louis’s neck arched under Harry’s lips as he bit. He laved over tender skin wet with spit only to pull back and seal Louis’s lips, swallow those breathy sounds.

He traced his fingers to the base of Louis’s ribs, clutching onto him and breaking the kiss to mouth across Louis’s jaw when Louis sucked in a breath and his chest expanded into Harry’s hold. His thumbs circled and Louis jerked and moaned, arching up into him. 

Harry smoothed his thumbs over Louis’s nipples until they pebbled, relished the hitched moans that spilled from Louis’ swollen lips when his head fell back, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Fuck, Haz.”

Fuck, Harry wanted to have him. He wished they could, but he knew Louis was sore from earlier. He would give up his voice to _be with_ Louis like that right now.

Harry pulled away to murmur a _not yet_ against the shell of his ear, nipping when Louis shivered before dragging wet, open-mouthed kisses down his throat. He sucked and bit every inch of skin his lips found, mouthed the 78 marking the wild thud of Louis’s heart beneath his skin.

He knew he was clinging, his lips and teeth and fingers bruising Louis’ skin like the spots marring the surface of the sun. But he couldn’t breathe. He needed every electric touch of Louis’ skin to kick-start his lungs back to life and propel him completely out of the nightmare that wouldn’t let him go. He couldn’t get close enough.

Harry tried to map Louis’s body with his eyes and lips and fingers but he couldn’t do it fast enough. 

Louis’s hands fisted the sheets. He was pushing into Harry’s frenetic kisses and touches but Harry couldn’t get it right, couldn’t keep track of every perfect moan and hitched breath and hiss and groan that Louis gave him as he kissed, bit, stroked.

His lips closed over one of Louis’s nipples and Louis groaned, long and low, bending into his touch. Harry held him down. He sucked, nipped, laved until both buds stood out dark and wet and Louis was grabbing onto his arms, panting.

Louis was rutting against Harry’s abs and Harry hitched one of Louis’s legs further around his waist for more leverage, matched the rhythm of Louis’s hips against sheets that were too rough against his own cock. The relieved whimper from Louis had Harry pushing harder against the sheets. The pleasure tipping too close to pain had him biting down on the sensitive bud still under his lips.

“Hazza, fuck,” Louis choked. His fingers tore from the sheets, dragged up Harry’s biceps into Harry’s hair, twisting, tugging, clenching against his scalp and pressing Harry’s face into his chest.

Harry hissed. He needed more, he needed to feel Louis against him, rut against the searing blaze of his skin, not the sheets. He sucked one more time, hard, before pulling away to fall over Louis again.

With their bodies slotted together again their lips collided, each kiss messier than the last. Louis’s nails dragged down his back and over the raised welts of the scratches he clawed into Harry’s skin only a few hours ago. The ice of his fingers simultaneously soothed and ignited the burn of the welts, kept Harry trapped between the chill of what had happened and the fever of now. 

Louis’s fingers hooked on Harry’s shoulder blades right in the centre of his back. 

_Louis jerked, a pained noise catching in the back of his throat, arching forward into Harry instinctively from the cold as he came back. He immediately started shivering too and he bit down hard right where tendon and bone met on Harry’s shoulder, almost as hard as his hands were suddenly gripping Harry. His nails dug into the centre of Harry’s back, right between his shoulder blades, like he was trying to do something, anything, to ground himself and regain some control over the overwhelming freeze._

Louis dug in, almost broke skin, a spark flaring against the dim. 

Harry couldn’t win.

He needed more and Louis wanted more but Harry didn't know how to get closer, how to drive the cold from Louis’s fingers and force the unshakeable feeling that Louis was too far away out of his chest.

He groaned and bit hard on Louis’ shoulder to shove the frustrated sob down his throat. 

Louis hissed, tensed beneath him, another hoarse _fuck_ falling from his lips. His hand flew from Harry’s back to bury in his hair, holding Harry’s head against his neck when Harry tried to pull away.

He ground into Louis, tried to trap the memory and cage it away by trapping Louis beneath his body because he didn’t know how else to make it stop.

“I know. I know,” Louis panted against his temple, arching into him. His legs fell open around Harry, drawing him closer, drawing him in, cradling him against his hips.

He tugged Harry up, smashed their mouths together, his hips following each of Harry’s thrusts until the kisses turned wet, a clumsy half-slide of lips and gasps in tempo with the rocking of their hips, chasing friction that was too much and too dry and not enough.

Louis’s hand smacked the bed, fumbling blindly towards the nightstand. He broke the kiss a moment later, wild strands of hair fanning against the pillow. Harry shoved his face back into Louis’s neck when Louis twisted to look away, sucking another mark into his skin. 

Panting against his throat, their hips pushing, pushing, Harry slid his arms beneath Louis and crushed him against his chest when Louis started to slide from beneath him as he reached towards the bedside table.

He couldn’t let go.

No matter how much he needed to see Louis, chest thrumming with arousal, throat red and body flushed, see the way his torso narrowed just slightly at his waist and the line of his abs jumped as he laughed, his cock already hard and leaking against his lower stomach and those perfect legs-

Louis half-panted his name, cut off, tugged his hair.

He couldn’t let go.

Every place they touched was a lightning bolt sizzling against Harry’s skin, the lingering ice of the nightmare that had settled deep in his bones cracking and falling away with every searing press of Louis’s body.

The only thing that would make him lift his head from Louis’s neck was Louis, the need in his voice and the perfect bow of his lips. His hold eased, just enough for Louis to shift out then back. He pressed the lube and a condom against Harry’s cheek when he cupped Harry’s face to kiss him. 

Louis broke the kiss, breathing heavily against Harry’s lips.

“Want to fucking feel you, Haz.”

His voice had dipped lower than the throaty notes of sex and sleep, dripping a hint of something else under the certainty that Harry couldn’t quite place, but he sounded as desperate as Harry felt.

He wanted to ask, opened his mouth to ask, but Louis’s lips gave him all the answer he needed.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed instead without thinking, taking the items from Louis. He was rewarded by those lips curving up against his own.

“Me fucking trousers are already off. No need for flattery.” 

Harry dropped the condom to the side, blindly snicked open the lube with one hand and said “How about the truth?” against Louis’s lips.

He groaned when fingers fisted in his hair and pulled his head to the side, away from Louis’s lips.

Louis’s tongue slid up Harry’s neck, breath hot and wet. He mouthed at the shell of Harry’s ear and panted, low and teasing, “How about I prep myself?”

 _Fuck_. No.

Harry had to bite his lip as he untangled from Louis just enough to sit back on his feet between Louis’s legs, the warmth of the room icy compared to the heat of Louis’s body. Reeling, Harry’s skin pebbled the moment they were apart and he gripped Louis’s thigh to ground himself. 

Pushing Louis’s leg towards his chest, Harry’s dick pulsed against his stomach, wanting so desperately to be buried in scorching heat.

Louis was still loose but that only made Harry careful. His middle finger sank easily, but he watched for any hint on Louis’s face that it was too much.

Louis’s eyes slipped closed, fingers tensing around Harry’s knees either side of his arse. Harry couldn’t pull away if he wanted to.

By the second finger Louis was clenching, hips rolling to meet his hand, lips parting with breathy curses. 

Fingers digging into the firm muscle of Louis's thigh hard enough to keep him still, Harry pushed three fingers in to the knuckle. Spreading his fingers, he worked Louis open gently and tried to take his time. He twisted as he drew out and curved each time he inched in, let the obscene little noises Louis no longer bit back urge him on until he couldn’t stay this far away anymore.

Louis’s thigh got trapped between their chests when he dropped to kiss him. The change in position had Louis trying to arch into him, a high whine lodging right in the back of his throat and arse clenching around Harry’s fingers.

He shoved his face into Louis’s neck, fingers pumping into Louis faster, desperate to hear that noise again. 

Louis tensed up beneath him, finally broke the kiss to shove his head into the pillow. Harry stopped when still-cold fingers curved over the flesh of his arse, stilling his hips where he’d been rocking his cock against the swell of Louis’s arse.

He squeezed his eyes shut to keep still.

For a moment only their mingled panting filled the air.

_Neither of them said anything, just gasping to catch their breath in the sudden silence, Harry’s hold so tight on Louis his arms were trembling, matching the full body shivers still rolling through Louis, his other hand white-knuckled as he fisted Harry’s sleeve. Harry didn’t know if Louis was shaking from the cold or from fear, but he could feel some of his warmth returning and held on tighter to share his own._

Lips surrounded by soft stubble brushed his jaw and he blinked, met Louis’s gaze, fucked-over and penetrating and understanding.

Louis licked his lips, tipped his chin to brush his lips against Harry’s and murmured, “Your aim is off again.”

He was so fucking cheeky and so clearly at the edge, but he always knew when Harry was drowning and knew how to pull him back from every edge.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, low and throaty and still so desperate, against his mouth.

“You sure?”

“Haz, your aim has been off since we fucking met,” Louis breathed, pulling him into a proper kiss. “I’m sure.”

“Not what I meant.”

Louis slapped his arse and Harry’s hips bucked against Louis’s bum, pumped Louis’s leg against his chest and had Louis arching and hissing out a _fuck_ , because Harry’s fingers were still lodged in his arse.

“Not changing my answer,” he gasped, shifting beneath Harry, his cock grazing Harry’s stomach but not close enough with his thigh trapped between them. “Fuck, please. Let me fucking feel you.”

Pulling away from Louis was counter-intuitive. Pulling away long enough to slide the condom on and slick himself up with more lube nearly broke him.

Because when he looked back up, Louis’s leg had fallen to the bed and he lay there on his back with his head turned to the right, eyes closed.

_Louis was close. He was so close._

_He lay there on his back, head turned to the right on his pillow, eyes closed, face pale, lips a mottled blue, wild hair no longer spiked up but mostly hidden beneath a grey beanie except for the tangled sweep of fringe over his right eye, the strands long enough to tickle his cheek._

_The change was jarring._

_Louis hadn’t moved._

He’d let go. 

It had just been a slow blink from Louis, but his wee creature shot up into his throat right before Louis’s eyes opened and Harry’s mind registered the flush staining Louis’s cheeks and chest.

He couldn’t get back to Louis fast enough, dropped to kiss him, long and slow and deep, until his heart slid out of memory and back to Louis again.

With a shaky breath, he eased between Louis’s legs with his own knees spread. Hands digging into Louis’s hips, he pulled them off the bed to line up with his entrance and he looked down to see what he was doing this time, shook his head to try and get the hair out of his face.

Louis’s fingers carded through his sweaty curls, pushed them off his forehead and Harry saw Louis was looking down too.

He pushed against the tight ring of muscle with more and more pressure until Louis bloomed around him. He bottomed out in one smooth glide.

Louis bit back a moan and Harry sucked in the last of the air punched out of his lungs from the exquisite pressure of Louis’s body clenching around his cock.

Everything lurched into place as hyper-clarity returned to take hold of his senses. The ground steadied, the world stopped holding its breath.

Louis’s head shoved into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as he tensed around Harry and Harry’s vision nearly whited out at the pressure. 

It hurt, not moving. All he wanted was more, more more _more_. His jaw clenched with effort. Louis was so fucking tight and so fucking hot that Harry was dizzy with it. As though he was caught in the doorway between the bright warmth of home and the dark chill of winter. 

Louis’s heat sucked the air out of his lungs and he was clutching Louis’s hips hard enough to leave bruises to stay in place.

Licking his lips, he fell onto his forearms as carefully as he could without jostling Louis, nuzzling his nose along his throat and jawline.

“Easy, Lou,” he panted against the corner of Louis’s lips. He peppered soft kisses to skin slick with sweat until Louis relaxed, just enough for him to move. He didn’t move. 

Pushing out a breath, Louis turned into Harry’s kisses so their lips met, fingers squeezing Harry’s arms as he muttered, “I’ll show you fucking easy.”

Louis absolutely could not. Nothing about Louis was easy and Harry wouldn’t have him any other way.

Loving Louis was easy though.

Louis was extremely easy on the eyes too.

“We don’t—”

“Make me feel you,” Louis cut in. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist and dug his heels into Harry’s arse, like that husky command—throaty yet laced with that sun king determination that was all Louis—wasn’t enough on its own to have Harry immediately wanting to obey. His hips jerked forward. They both groaned.

He eased out, sank back in just as slowly, swallowed the grunt Louis made with his lips before Louis broke the kiss to suck in air through his teeth, his grip on Harry tightening. 

He pulled out and Louis’s body tried to shy up the bed. With what little remaining control he had, Harry threaded his arms between Louis and the bed and crushed Louis against his chest. He had nowhere to go when Harry sank in again and Louis grunted, a higher whine half-pain, half-pleasure. 

Harry circled his hips, whispered against his lips.

“Feel me, Lou.”

He shoved his knees into the mattress and drove deeper, impaled Louis on his cock and held him there.

Louis’s lips fell open as he cursed, hoarse, pushing into and against Harry’s hold.

“Haz, fuck, I need—” his words cut into a low groan.

“What—” Harry bit his lip, held still, “What do you need?”

“Hazza, don’t—”

Louis’s tongue darted out over his lips, fingers digging into the bedsheets. He rolled into Harry, tried to make him move.

Harry pulled back, hovered, plunged into him again.

Louis’s arms flew up to wrap around him, tips of his fingers digging into Harry’s lower back. A breathy curse tumbled from his lips but he had no leverage to change the pace, to make Harry go faster. He could only roll his hips up to meet Harry’s strokes and urge him in deeper.

“You need to feel me, don’t you,” he panted against Louis’s ear as their hips fell into rhythm, sensual, slow, but relentless.

Louis clenched around him again, so fucking tight, and he bit at the base of Louis’s neck. He stifled his groan into sweat-slicked skin as Louis grit his teeth and hissed, bucked, but each thrust shoved Louis into the mattress.

He'd never get enough of learning all the beautiful little nuances of Louis’s body: the way his back curved in Harry’s hold and his fingers curled into Harry’s back the moment Harry bottomed out, like it was too much and not enough.

But he didn’t speak. Louis always spoke. He wasn’t speechless, wasn’t too close to the edge. But he didn’t speak.

“Say it.”

His lips were right by Harry’s ear. With his face still buried in the salty skin of Louis’s neck, Harry could _hear_ every breath, every quiet gasp, every change in tempo. Panting and throaty and peppered with breathy curses, Louis’s breathing caught in his throat when Harry thrust all the way in and faded into a barely-there moan when Harry slid almost all the way out.

“You need this, don’t you,” Harry groaned when Louis didn’t answer, desperate to hear him, desperate to know. “Need to know what it feels like, need to feel me in you like you needed to kiss me on that stage. But you didn’t.”

Louis bit his lip as Harry crushed him into the bed, looked almost pained trying to hold back his noises.

Harry needed to hear him speak and he wasn’t speaking because he fucking knew Harry needed to hear his voice.

“I would have kissed you on that stage too.” He kept going without much thought to what he was saying, holding on to Louis as much as he was holding him in place. “Would have taken you on that stage. Bent you over that fucking walkway. Let the whole arena see how—” he grunted, “—how much you fucking need this. How well you fucking take me.” He shifted, thrust into him again and again and tried to keep control because Louis was clutching onto him, lips fallen open in harsh gasps now. “Take your mic and let everyone hear how perfect you sound when you moan for me.”

A strangled moan, halfway to a sob, shoved out of Louis.

Harry wished he had more control, wished he had any control at all. 

“Say it.”

He couldn’t stop his hips, lost in the haze of undeniable perfect pleasure. Crushing Louis against his chest like this put all the effort in his hips and thighs as he pistoned into Louis, panting harshly against his throat.

“Say it, Lou.”

Louis’s eyes squeezed shut and he arched into Harry, gripped his arms. His voice, thick and ragged, echoed into the room, echoed through Harry’s skull.

“Take it off,” he gasped, choked on another faint moan. “Hazza, take it off.”

Harry’s mind was too wrapped in the intoxicating haze of Louis surrounding him to understand.

“What?”

Louis’s eyes were dark, glassy and half-open, but he caught Harry’s lips in a sloppy kiss, tonguing into Harry’s mouth, panting. His fingers dragged over Harry’s lower back to grip at his hips, attempted to push Harry up.

“The rubber. Take it off.”

They were both clean, but the shock of crossing a line they hadn’t yet crossed had Harry’s hips stuttering to a halt. 

“Lou—” Mind foggy, heart exploding out of his chest and cock buried completely in Louis, his throat sealed in the desperate effort it was taking him to keep still.

Flushed and panting, Louis pushed his forehead against Harry’s, like he was trying to meld their brains together, and squeezed his hips again.

“Fuck, just—... I need—” His legs fell, feet planting on either side of Harry. “Hazza, please.”

His hands pushed at Harry’s hips until Harry let go and slipped out.

Louis winced; Harry shuddered.

The room was utterly freezing compared to the heat of Louis’s body, so cold against his cock it _hurt_ and it was all he could do to clutch onto the mattress. He bit his cheek hard enough to bleed as Louis reached between them. Shaking fingers blindly rolled the condom off, tossed it aside, guided him back to Louis.

Gasping like he’d just broken the surface of the water, Harry hovered over Louis again, every muscle straining to keep himself still as he pressed against Louis’s entrance. His hips jerked, the head of his cock stretching Louis’s rim before he sucked in a breath and froze, trembling with the effort.

Dropping his forehead against sweat-soaked strands, he took a deep breath as steady as he could make it, opened his eyes, and begged Louis to know what he was asking without him having to speak, fingers still digging desperately into the sheets.

Louis licked his lips, drew Harry down just enough until they were almost kissing. He slid his hand down Harry’s arm and pried it off the bed to lace their fingers by his head. He squeezed.

His hand was warm.

“Do it, Haz.”

Louis kissed him.

Harry thrust forward.

His need was too great to hold back and he drove into Louis without coordination. His choked moan sounded wounded, echoed by the breathy groan punched out of Louis.

It was like the difference between their dreams and being awake. He felt _everything_. Louis was _everywhere_ , exploding across his senses like a fucking sunburst and he couldn’t _breathe_.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, dropping his head to the base of Louis’s neck and biting the muscle in a desperate attempt to gain some semblance of _any_ control and not fly over the edge.

“Lou,” he begged, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The effort was too much and his hips jerked, tried to drive deeper into Louis’s heat, pushing another breathless gasp out of Louis.

“Hazza, move,” Louis choked, shoving up against him and Harry nearly bit his own lip hard enough to draw blood. He braced, gripped onto the bed and Louis’s hand for leverage, and _moved_.

It was long strokes and the slick glide of skin on skin, his hips smashing against Louis’s arse and a high noise in the back of Louis’s throat every time he bottomed out.

With each thrust, Louis’s free hand was grabbing onto him, his arm, the bed, his hair, his shoulder, before he clutched at Harry’s back and sent a flash of pleasure-pain rocketing through Harry when his fingers dragged once more over the scratches he’d made earlier. Except this time he was here and Louis was _right here_ and Harry thought he sobbed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut only to pry them open because there was no universe where the dark behind his eyes could possibly compare to Louis.

The sheer intensity of watching Louis rock against the bed, face flushed and hair wild against the pillow and clinging to his glistening skin was almost too much and it took everything in Harry to hold back the love wanting to explode from the core of his being and into Louis.

His hips bucked on their own now and Louis’s lips fell open, a steady, quiet stream of _fuck, fuck, fuck, Haz, fuck,_ spilling from him that Harry didn’t have enough breath to make himself.

Louis’s hand fell from Harry’s back and blindly smacked against the headboard to keep him in place as Harry rucked them further up the bed with each thrust. 

Harry didn’t stop because he couldn’t stop, because he’d finally found home and Louis was consuming him in a blast of fiery pleasure unlike anything he’d never felt before, blistering over every inch of his skin.

Louis was close again, tensing up a little more with each thrust and the chant of _please, please, please_ echoed through Harry’s mind, a persistent drumbeat as stable and disruptive as the lad coming apart beneath him. 

If he had the breath to speak he would say the word out loud, but his wee creature was swelling with too much emotion and adoration and delirium, shoving into his lungs so they had no room to expand.

He needed to see Louis shudder and come apart, to shatter every memory of him cold and still and cursed to fucking oblivion in a blaze of Yorkshire lightning and blue-eyed fireworks.

So he reached between them and closed his grip around Louis’s cock and the endless mantra of curses choked off as Harry pumped him in time with his thrusts and he was so fucking beautiful Harry was certain he was going to cry. 

“Lou, _please_.”

Louis went rigid. His eyes rolled back, his mouth fell open, his grip on Harry’s hand trembled then went slack as his neck arched against the pillow at an impossible angle.

The air sucked out of the room in a wild rush of held breaths and stolen heartbeats.

Harry choked.

He _felt_ him.

Louis’s body fluttered like molten velvet around his cock, milked over him in time with Louis’s cock pulsing in his grip. And he was so _silent_ as he released, painting his chest and stomach like Harry’s thrusts were driving it out.

Harry continued to pound into him as Louis sagged back to the bed, trembling, his eyes clouded over and watery and lips still open, gasping for air.

Louis pulled Harry to him.

Harry groaned as Louis’s legs wrapped around him, heels digging into his arse, urging him deeper, body gripping Harry as tightly as his hand was squeezing Harry’s again, as his fingers were threaded through his hair, holding Harry’s head to his neck before falling low to the base of Harry’s spine, digging into his skin. 

Their bodies were rocking together, chests gliding through their sweat and Louis’s release and Louis’s lips were right by his ear and all Harry could hear were Louis’s choked gasps and then Louis was panting those magic words, that proper magic, into his ear.

“Come on, Haz. Fuck, come on. Come on.”

His voice was wrecked, throaty and raw, but still so bloody cocky because he knew exactly what he was doing and Harry couldn’t even find the breath to moan.

The visceral reaction had taken him by surprise the first time Louis said those words. He still wasn’t sure why, but like a fucking spell, the words sucked the air back into his lungs only to whoosh past his lips in a choked sob of ecstasy.

His hips jerked forwards once, twice, three times, crashing into Louis and then locking him there deep inside.

_Come on._

Harry could have Louis, Harry could have his best mate, Harry could keep Louis.

He skyrocketed over the edge.

Pleasure overwhelmed him in a giant swell as he lost himself, spurting wave after wave of come into Louis with nothing between them, no condom, no barriers. Harry saw Louis’s eyes widen and his lips fall open the split second before his vision whited out and went dark at the same time and all he could feel everywhere was Louis, _Louis Louis Louis,_ Louis’s legs, Louis’s hands, Louis’s arms, Louis’s body, Louis’s lips, Louis’s breath, Louis’ skin.

Louis.

 _Louis Louis Louis_.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He fell so completely on top of Louis that he had to match his breathing, inhale every time Louis exhaled, because there was no room between their bodies for their chests to expand at the same time.

Trembling, Harry pressed his nose against the slick skin at the edge of Louis’s jaw, felt him still trembling too.

Shaking fingers were still tangled in his curls, cradled him against Louis’s neck. 

His hold on Louis’s hand tightened.

Louis’s legs slid away from him and carefully eased to the bed.

He eased carefully out of Louis.

They both winced.

He didn’t know how he could possibly put any of it into words. _Thank you_ wasn’t enough, would never be enough. It didn’t feel quite right either. 

“Lou—”

Louis’s head lolled towards their hands, drew them up to brush his lips over Harry’s. He pushed the remaining air out of Harry’s lungs when he took a deep breath, chest filling and pressing against his own.

“I know,” he managed, combing the hair out of Harry’s eyes, using the touch to draw Harry in to kiss him instead of saying more. This kiss was soft, still deep, but more like a celebration, the type of kiss the heroes always shared at the end of all his favourite rom-coms. He didn’t want it to end. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d know what to say.

Tonight he could dream all the ways to put everything he was feeling into words.

Louis hadn’t moved when Harry returned from the bathroom with a flannel to clean him off. Harry paused at the edge of the bed to just look down at him from the far side of the bed.

Louis was still one glorious bolt of contradictions. The fading flush in his cheeks and chest coupled with the sweat glistening on his skin and slicking his hair made him look like he was sparking and sizzling with frenetic energy even though he’s just resting. He wasn’t moving, but he wasn’t _still_ either. There’s a looseness to his body that wasn’t there before, even when Harry had accidentally woken him up. The rise and fall of his chest was impossible to miss and he looked so very _alive_ and so very _warm_ and so very _close_.

Harry’s heart swelled and burst and swelled right back up again.

He was so fucking beautiful.

“Your alien is showing again, Hazza,” Louis murmured, not moving.

Louis must be knackered if he was recycling comments. Harry’s limbs were sluggish, heavy, but he crawled over the bed and when Louis turned his head up on the pillow and opened his eyes, he leaned down to steal a kiss, then another and definitely one more after that, and played along.

“How?”

“Because it’s four in the fucking morning and you’re staring again,” Louis said between kisses, then pressed his head back into the pillow to look up at Harry. “We’re going back to sleep, not spending another hour so you can get some more practice with that cleaning kink of yours.”

Harry couldn’t stop his pout at that and it was enough for Louis to laugh, throaty, breathless, and drag him into another kiss so his pout ended up against Louis’s lips.

One of these days he really needed to educate Louis on the difference between staring and watching. He definitely hadn’t been staring. He didn’t stare at Louis. 

He watched Louis.

“Not what you were saying a few hours ago,” he grumbled, still playing along, pulling away to gently wipe the sweat, come, and lube from Louis’ skin.

Louis flinched, but then he relaxed, eyes slipping closed.

“I wasn’t saying anything a few hours ago. I was asleep, remember?”

Harry didn’t say anything for several beats, choosing instead to smooth his fingers over Louis’ stomach, trace slowly over the dip of his waist, memorize the contours of his body.

When Louis sank a little further into the bed and breathed out a soft sigh, Harry leaned over and whispered against the corner of his lips, “there’s a lot about tonight I’m going to remember.” 

He rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom before Louis could roll his eyes and call him a walking rom-com, a soft smile on his face.

When he came back from tossing the dirty flannel in the bathtub, he found Louis lying on his left side, facing Harry. He’d shifted closer to his own side of the bed where the sheets weren’t soaked in their sweat. Harry climbed onto the bed again and stayed on all fours, hovering sideways over Louis’s face to say, “Think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

He dropped his forehead onto Louis’s like that would prove his statement, which earned him a breathy laugh.

“That was the point.”

He couldn’t see most of Louis’s face from this angle, but he still saw the smile on his lips and his tongue slide over the sharp point of his canine when he grinned like he’d just won.

Harry fixed that.

“Which point? My point?”

Louis arched his eyebrow and still managed to pull off ‘unimpressed’ even with his hair dark and pasted to his forehead with sweat and far too much affection in his eyes. He lifted his arm up so Harry could slide into bed against him.

“Would it matter what I said?”

Harry did slip under the sheets, but instead of turning away to tuck against Louis, he curled his arm over Louis’s waist and plopped his head down on the pillow next to him. Noses nearly touching, it was impossible to miss the curiousity that flickered over sleepy blue eyes. He answered the unspoken question by pressing another tender, slow kiss to Louis’s lips.

“Always.”

Louis’s eyes were half-open and soft, but he rolled them anyway, dropped his outstretched arm to star-fish a gloriously warm hand over Harry’s face and push him back on the pillow.

“You’re such a fucking coco pop. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Well that one was new. He quite liked this half-asleep unfiltered Louis. He was able to press a grateful kiss to that warm palm before Louis pulled it back. A quirky smile lit up his face.

“Coco pop?” he asked as Louis’s hand curved over his hip instead. “I thought I was a cheese ball.”

Louis rolled his eyes again and this time Harry had a feeling whatever he was about to say would have _obviously, Harold_ splattered all over it.

“Not when you were just balls-deep in me without a fucking rubber, you tit. If anyone’s getting points, it’s bloody me.”

Well, if anyone needed points, it was Louis. It wasn’t officially in the rulebook yet, but they never earned points like this, not even from kisses. Harry would never take points after something so fucking perfect even if Louis had offered them. But Louis did need the points. 978, to be exact.

Louis seemed to take Harry’s silence as agreement, because he leaned in enough to steal one more kiss from Harry’s lips before lifting his arm again so Harry could nestle in.

Harry liked being little spoon on the nights they were in hotels and had enough space to sleep together, cherished the circle of strength of Louis’s arms around him as he fell asleep, even if they always woke up the other way round.

But right now he just wanted to hold Louis, wanted to know that he wasn’t letting go. Because maybe if he fell asleep holding him, his mind would realize that it really was over and stop making him relive that moment.

Maybe he just needed to replace that memory with a new one, imprint it in his brain as firmly as a sequence, three numbers bookended by two symbols, so wild and wonderful and precious to him it had been tattooed across every corner of his mind.

So instead he shook his head against the pillow and shifted upright, tickling his fingers against Louis’s neck.

Louis seemed to accept whatever he saw on Harry’s face, either that or he was too tired to question it, because he just lifted his head enough so Harry could slip an arm beneath him.

As he lay back down, using Harry’s arm for his pillow this time, Harry touched his finger to Louis’ sternum and circled it twice, felt Louis’s gaze. He didn’t look up, slowly traced out five symbols into Louis’ skin with his left hand. 

**@978/**

The 7 and 8 both fell with perfect precision over the 78 tattooed on his chest and Harry smiled softly and mumbled, “How many do you have now?”

Louis didn’t miss a beat. Then again, he was too talented to miss a beat now wasn’t he.

“346.”

Harry should have known he’d be keeping count. He cupped Louis’s jaw, stroked a thumb over his bottom lip and smiled when Louis nipped at his thumb. So he replaced his thumb with his lips, eyes sliding shut as he memorized the curve of Louis’s mouth all over again.

The room was quiet save for the soft whir of the heating system and the lazy smack of their lips parting and joining, rustling fabric and gentle breaths.

Harry’s eyes opened as he remembered belatedly that he hadn’t responded yet.

“Not sure I believe that,” he murmured between soft, sleepy kisses. 346 points in two weeks sounded mildly suspicious, even with Louis’s talent for racking up points with that golden tongue of his.

Louis hummed against his lips, not even bothering to open his eyes. He also didn’t bother to answer until he’d taken his fill of kisses. Then he pulled back far enough to kiss the corner of Harry’s lip and smirk. 

“Not sure I care.”

With one more slow kiss clearly meant to stop Harry from trying to argue with him, Louis slid his palm down over Harry’s bicep. Even with his eyes closed he still stopped right over the three nails to stroke his thumb, warm once again, over them. 

“Sleep, Haz.” 

A sleepy smile wound over Harry’s face.

“Thanks, Lou.”

Louis lifted his head enough to brush his lips over the nails for two beats in response. Then he rolled over beneath the arm Harry had on his waist and budged backwards until Harry was moulded against his back.

Harry waited. 

Three soft breaths later Louis plucked up Harry’s arm and tucked it further up his chest like he was fixing blankets. Pressing Harry’s hand against his chest, palm over palm, Louis wiggled at Harry’s fingers then slid his own into the space between Harry’s. 

He settled again.

Harry waited.

A few breaths after that Louis bunched up the pillow around Harry’s arm and his face with the hand he pushed under it.

Harry finally couldn’t suppress his smile when Louis squirmed one more time, tangling their legs together to get Harry’s leg right between his knees where he wanted it.

Louis went still then, sinking against Harry. His breathing evened out into sleep again not long after.

Spent and sated and so bloody in love, Harry was already mostly asleep himself. The deeper the breath he took, the more his chest expanded, the more he could feel Louis’s back against him. It went a long way to lulling him the rest of the way towards sleep, towards his breathing starting to match Louis’s, which he could feel in the rise and fall beneath one arm and as a brush of warmth against the other. 

His eyes wanted to close, but if he was going to replace that memory with a better one, he was going to do it right.

He needed to log this moment, tuck it away in his memories where no one and nothing, not even his own bloody mind, could take Louis away from him.

Facing the window, he couldn’t see Louis’s face, but the curve of his shoulder, the high ridge of his cheekbone, and flyaway sex-mussed hair were silhouetted in the faint light, filling the bottom half of Harry’s vision.

Stroking his thumb over the side of Louis’s finger, he lifted his head only enough to nose into damp strands of hair, breathe in the scent of spices and sweat, smoke and firelight. He pressed a soft kiss to that precious spot behind Louis’s ear.

“Love you, Lou,” he breathed against the tender skin, careful not to wake him. The words were so quiet that his vocal cords didn’t even vibrate. They may not have said the words out loud yet, not like this, but he felt them all the same. Maybe somewhere in his dreams Louis would hear them now too.

Something moved in the shadows in the far corner near the window and he froze. Harry stared hard into the dark looming just a few yards away. He watched the curtains to see if they’d been moved by a rush of air coming from the heating system below the window.

They were still.

 _Fuck_.

He wished, yet again, that he had half the strength Louis did. But he didn’t. He drew Louis in closer, inhaled as slowly as he could and closed his eyes. Curving in on himself to curl more around Louis, Harry held him like a teddy bear and a protector all in one. 

The words in his mind this time were a mantra he used to calm his heart down again and finally drift back to sleep himself.

_It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this wild ride to the end! I've written two OS stories set in this Universe as well. **_[Interlude: One Night in March](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019796)_** gives us a glimpse into Harry and Louis's relationship post-TDIF and **_[FRACTURED](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136601)_** is a wee spooky ficlet from Louis's POV! The lad has a few secrets!
> 
> A link to this fic-post for reblogging on Tumblr can be found **_[here](https://mercurial-madhouse.tumblr.com/post/627186457946324992/three-days-in-february-126k-m)_**.
> 
> If you have any questions about Harry's sequence, @978/, feel free to send me an email at thenoveljourney@gmail.com or you can find me on Tumblr, @mercurial-madhouse, **[here](mercurial-madhouse.tumblr.com)**. I love making new friends and I'm always posting updates about what's coming next so stay tuned!
> 
> Cheers!  
> M


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